


The Courts of Love

by cygnaut



Category: Vampire Chronicles - Anne Rice
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Late Canon Nonsense, M/M, Marriage of Convenience, Miscommunication, Possession, Royalty, Vampire Politics, but not really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:34:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 43,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23517769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cygnaut/pseuds/cygnaut
Summary: When Lestat asks Louis to come join him at the new vampire court, Louis assumes he wants his support for expedient reasons rather than romantic ones. It takes Louis a surprisingly long time to notice he's in a real marriage and not one of politics or convenience.Louis' perspective duringPrince Lestat and the Realms of Atlantis.
Relationships: Lestat de Lioncourt/Louis de Pointe du Lac
Comments: 129
Kudos: 213





	1. Chapter 1

The sky was overcast the night Louis and Lestat departed New Orleans. They didn't see the ground once until they arrived over Auvergne and left the starry dome of the sky behind to descend through the heavy winter cloud cover below. Louis' first glimpse was of a barren landscape of rocky highlands relieved by only a few patches of graying snow. He'd been expecting the sharp beauty of the alps, but these were low and weathered mountains worn down and hunched like old women huddling against the icy wind. 

The chateau itself was situated at the top of a steep alpine track that twisted up through the hills from a village in the valley below. The central structure was square with four round towers at each corner—three of them built with noticeably newer stone than the fourth. Surrounding the central residence and enclosing the large inner courtyard was a rambling curtain wall which protected it on all sides from invasion. It was clearly a place built for defense rather than beautification; an inaccessible fortification perched on the side of a mountain. 

Louis was still uncertain about the entire idea of a "court" and the long trip across the Atlantic gave him plenty of time to mull over his anxieties. Lestat seemed to think it was self-evident that they should have a unified political system and that _he_ should be at its heart as the new host of the sacred core that connected them all. Louis was less sure this was a good idea based on his previous experience of how vampires behaved in groups. 

Adding to his anxiety was the disturbing news they'd received the night before from Armand. He had called to report a strange attack in New York City. An unknown and seemingly-inhuman being had accosted the residents of Trinity Gate and somehow managed to _kill_ one of them (the unfortunately-named vampire "Killer") and seriously injure another. It was unclear if the thing had acted alone or if the attack was part of some larger design, but Lestat had decided that as their new "prince" he was needed at court to manage the situation. 

As they drew closer to the chateau, Lestat directed Louis to an anachronistic balcony on the south tower. It was shaped like a flat disk and projected out from the exterior wall with no railings to hide its intended purpose as a landing pad. Inside a pair of French doors was a receiving room that would have made Louis XIV cringe at its ostentation. Every surface that could be gilded, was gilded. Opposite the entrance was a larger-than-life portrait of Lestat wearing a fur cloak over a suit of armor. 

"Do you like it?" Lestat asked, seeing Louis' expression. He went to stand next to the painting and struck the same regal pose as his likeness with one hand on his hip and the other raised in greeting. "It's Marius' latest attempt at an official royal portrait."

Louis frowned and stepped closer to examine the details. "You don't think the ermine is a little much?" 

"It's allegorical!" Lestat insisted and hurried Louis out of the room for a tour of the premises. 

They began working their way down stopping at each floor to look in at the sumptuous guest suites. The south tower, Louis was informed, was the most exclusive wing of the chateau and where most of the new "Council of Elders" lodged and worked. Lestat had always tended toward clutter in his decorating and every room was littered with furniture and statuary. It was a good thing vampires were naturally graceful or his visitors would be constantly in danger of tripping. 

As the tour continued, Lestat kept looking toward Louis like he was waiting for something. Louis tried to be appreciative and complimented him on the beauty of each over-the-top room, but if he was being truthful his eyes soon began to tire of beauty and he longed for the simplicity and clean lines of unadorned stone. 

Louis's unspoken wish was fulfilled sooner than he might have expected. At the next flight up, Lestat pulled aside a tapestry to reveal the entrance to a hidden staircase. While the rest of the tower had been enlarged and modernized, here the stairs were in their original, medieval configuration. These were stairs that had been designed for defense against invading armies. They twisted clockwise so the defenders above had the advantage of leading with their sword hand against attackers who were forced to come one-by-one up the narrow confines. 

Lestat led the way since it was impossible to walk side-by-side. The steps were worn slick and dipped in the center from hundreds of years of use. As he followed Lestat, Louis put his hand out to steady himself on the outer wall and felt the bitter cold seeping in through the rough masonry. Was this the same set of stairs Lestat had climbed each night as a boy to his tower bedroom? 

They exited the staircase into an area with steep vaulted ceilings that had been left exposed and unadorned. Louis was struck by how austere it looked without baroque furniture and ornamentation everywhere. Here, for the first time, he could recognize the cold and lonesome castle Lestat had described in his memoir. 

Lestat was already across the room opening a door and Louis had to rush to join him. Inside was a parlor decorated more in keeping with the rich style of the rest of the tower. It had a distinctly Victorian feel with stiff upholstered furniture and damask wallpaper. The gently curving south wall was inlaid with a row of gothic arch windows. Lestat picked up a modern tablet computer sitting anachronistically on the side table and with a flick of his finger the drapes opened to let in a flood of moonlight. 

"What is this place?" Louis asked, following Lestat to the windows and looking out. They were near the top of the tower and had a clear view of the steep road which twisted down to the village below. 

"One of the guest suites. I thought you might like it here," Lestat said. "It's as far as you can get from the public areas and the view is nice."

"Oh, thank you," Louis said. "It's lovely." The ornamental plasterwork and the gold leaf on the ceiling was a little much for him, but it was in keeping with the rest of the renovation. "Are those columns structural?" 

Lestat shrugged. "Probably not. I can talk to my architect and you can rearrange it however you like." He swiped the tablet screen and a panel on the back wall rolled to the side, revealing another smaller parlor partitioned off behind the first. 

Louis followed Lestat as he continued through the suite of rooms, turning on lights and opening curtains as he went. As they proceeded it became clear that the space had been designed specifically for Louis and was not the casual, off-the-cuff gift that Lestat was presenting it as. The rooms were very comfortably arranged and there was even a lovely wood-paneled library full of empty shelves waiting to be filled. 

Lestat loved to shower people with extravagant presents, but at the moment of exchange he often behaved as if the gesture was meaningless or even couched it as an insult. He could never buy Louis new clothing for instance without making snide comments about his inability to dress himself. Louis had taken these insulting exchanges to heart for many years until he came to recognize the insecurity underlying them. It was as if Lestat was always bracing himself preemptively for his gifts to be thrown back in his face… admittedly something that had quite literally happened in the past before Louis came to understand Lestat's counterintuitive behaviors. 

"My rooms are in the master suite above here," Lestat said, speaking over his shoulder as he continued ahead. "There's a servant's staircase that connects them and leads up to the roof."

"Oh?" Louis followed him past a bathroom with a marble tub and down a narrow back passage. A hidden pocket door revealed a wrought-iron spiral staircase that twisted up into darkness. One flight above was a little landing with an entrance to Lestat's rooms ("It's always unlocked," he said as they went past, casually rapping his knuckles on the wood) and two flights above that they emerged onto the roof of the tower. 

Cold wind blasted Louis as he stepped outside. The tower was round and the roof was ringed with square battlements giving it the classic appearance of a castle in a fairytale. There were footprints in the snow left by earlier visitors, including a set which stopped abruptly at the edge of the roof and did not return. 

Two figures were visible across the courtyard perched on the east and west towers: Cyril and Thorne, Lestat's new council-assigned "bodyguards," who had accompanied them from New Orleans. Louis assumed their presence was less about protecting Lestat and more about making sure he didn't endanger the rest of them with his impulsive decision-making. Now that he had the core, any harm that Lestat experienced would reverberate through the rest of them and force them all to suffer the consequences of his misadventures. 

Louis walked to the parapets at the edge of the roof and looked down on the village below. It was early yet and the little commercial street with its handful of shops was bright with human activity. Traces of snow softened the glow of the street lights and made the buildings look very warm and quaint; a storybook village to match with the fairytale castle. Beyond the village, hills rose up in the distance and etched out a black void above which the stars began.

"Not bad, eh?" Lestat asked. 

"It's beautiful," Louis said, much to Lestat's pleasure. Louis was reminded of the many times Lestat had brought home some new piece of furniture or decorative curio and had preened when Louis remarked on its presence. He was always so proud of his ability to create a pleasing mise en scène and the chateau was his largest stage yet.

"Are you… worried at all?" Louis asked. 

"No," Lestat said, then paused and frowned at him. "About what?"

"The attack in New York," Louis said, blinking at him. "This... creature. Whatever it is."

"Oh, that." Lestat shook his head. "No, what's to worry about? Nothing can threaten us."

"It did manage to _kill_ one of us," Louis said with a familiar spark of irritation at Lestat's careless lack of concern. 

Lestat waved his hand dismissively. "Killer was a weak vampire. It's not like the ancients are vulnerable to attack. Or me. Why, what's worrying you?"

"I don't know." Louis folded his arms and hugged himself against the wind, although the cold wasn't actually bothering him. "I guess it's only that it's new and unknown.."

"It might have been a threat to a lone vampire," Lestat said. "But I'm sure the council will be able to handle the situation." 

"I suppose," Louis said, unconvinced. "But it isn't just the discovery of some new supernatural creature we know nothing about… I mean, my god, the thing _ate Killer's brains._ " 

Lestat laughed. "You're worried it might be some new creature who feeds on vampires?"

"No," Louis said. "I'm worried we're not prepared for a threat we know nothing about." 

Lestat shrugged. "Then we'll try to learn more. And if it _is_ the start of some sort of attack and not an isolated incident, so what? Now that Amel is awake and aware of himself for the first time, with vampires worldwide coming together at the court, we're in a stronger position than we have been for thousands of years."

"Is he here now?" Louis asked. 

Lestat nodded and his face darkened. "Yes, he's back and he's repeating a bunch of nonsense...."

"Nonsense?"

"In some ancient language I don't know. Something sing-song, like a nursery rhyme." 

"That sounds… distracting." 

Lestat shrugged and turned to lean on a parapet. "I've gotten good at ignoring him. He's often babbling and he loves attention—much like a _child_." The last part seemed directed inward rather than at Louis. Lestat was looking down as he talked and he kept flexing the fingers of his left hand, making a fist and then opening it again. If he were human, Louis would have thought his hand was hurting him. 

"Is he with you often?" Louis asked. 

Lestat started to nod, then shook his head instead. "He comes and goes. He likes to travel into other vampires around the world and see what's happening. Usually, when I wake in the evening, he's already gone, but he stops in throughout the night and he always comes back to me before dawn." 

Lestat's fingers kept flexing as he spoke, opening and folding closed and then opening again. Lestat didn't seem to be aware that he was doing it. Louis took a step closer and reached out, intending to touch Lestat's hand to still him, but he jerked away before Louis could finish the motion. 

"Don't!" Lestat said, backing up. He held his own wrist out and away from him like his hand was an alien thing that had threatened Louis. 

"Sorry?" Louis said reflexively. 

"It's not—" Lestat grimaced and lowered his arm, releasing his wrist to let his hand at his side. "He keeps trying to… Amel keeps insisting he can make my hand move." 

"Oh." A chill passed through him, but Louis tried to remain impassive like there was nothing alarming about this bit of information. "I see. And… _can_ he…?"

"No," Lestat snapped. His hand twitched at his side. "Barely. It's only an annoyance."

"Ah…" 

"It's harmless, a little game he likes to play. You have to understand," he said, his voice growing louder and most insistent. "He's been like a man in a coma—can you imagine, being barely conscious and trapped for years? Able to look out at the world through others' eyes but unable to act?"

Louis nodded. He was trying to stay calm but he felt a clawing kind of panic thinking about this restless entity sharing residence in Lestat's mind. 

"He's been helpless for so long," Lestat continued. "It's only natural he'd want to test his limits." He paused and glanced at Louis with a ragged look that suggested he wanted him to agree and shore up his own doubts. 

Louis weighed how to respond. He had to be careful, Amel was here now, or had been a moment ago when Lestat addressed him. Best to assume that Amel was listening at all times and act accordingly. "Yes, I see why you sympathize with him. It sounds like a nightmare."

Lestat smiled with relief. "Exactly, he's been a prisoner for centuries. For millennia."

"Yes."

"But, you see, he loves me," Lestat said. "And I love him. Because I'm the only one who understands him, who can really sympathize." 

"I'm not sure I follow," Louis admitted. 

"It's because I know what it's like!" Lestat said, his voice rising with frustration. "Becoming the monster, embracing the fiend… and coming back from that." 

His vehemence made Louis pull back slightly. "Surely we all know what that is like." 

"No, that's not—it's not the same." Lestat's lips pursed in a pout that would have been comical if they were having any other conversation. 

"All right," Louis said. "I'm sure it's as you say. He's harmless."

The words hung in the air, clearly a lie, and Lestat looked down at his hand as it twitched by his side. Louis felt the distance between them as a vast gulf, greater even than when they were separated for over a century. 

How could Louis possibly hope to compete with this voice in Lestat's head? Earlier that year, Amel had convinced multiple elders to go on rampages by simply whispering to them. How much more control could he gain over Lestat when they were essentially sharing a body? How long would it take before Amel decided it was time to destroy more of his unwanted children?

Lestat went to stand at the edge of the roof and was quiet as he looked out at the landscape. Silence prevailed for several minutes, each of them lost in his own thoughts until Lestat turned his head like he was shaking something loose and let out a sigh. "Would you know if it wasn't me?" he asked. 

_I don't know, probably not, I can't read your mind and he knows everything you know._ "Yes," Louis said, keeping his eyes on Lestat's face and making the word measured and firm. 

Lestat's mouth twitched into a smile and Louis realized that _this_ was why he was here. 

Lestat moved closer to stand at Louis' shoulder again. 

"It's a beautiful view," Louis said, looking out at the mountains. 

"Yes, winter is the best time of year here, the snow makes everything more beautiful."

"I guess..." Louis wrapped his arms around himself. "But why couldn't you have been born on the Mediterranean?"

Lestat smiled. "Then I would never have left and where would you be."

"Cold in the ground probably." In the past that had been a point of contention and one of Lestat's favorite weapons to wield when Louis was feeling morose, but now Louis was able to say it without malice and a touch of amusement. 

Lestat laughed. "You might be better off, hell is surely warmer than Auvergne."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: This chapter contains descriptions of actual plot points from _Prince Lestat and the Realms of Atlantis_.

Lestat wanted to continue on their tour of the chateau, but he was forced to break it off to attend an impromptu council meeting. They hurried over to the north tower and up to the official chamber room where several of the Council of Elders had gathered to discuss the recent incident while they waited for Armand to arrive from New York.

"Elders" was a bit of an exaggeration considering that at least a third of the council's unofficial membership was under the age of 500, but Louis supposed that Lestat needed the aura of experience that elders implied. He had already been complaining to Louis the night before that the council treated him like a boy king who hadn't yet reached the age of majority. ("You could try acting more responsibly," Louis had suggested, "to show you don't need constant oversight." Lestat had scoffed.)

No one wanted to admit that they were in danger and yet it seemed the whole building was buzzing with nervous whispers about the unexpected new threat. Standing on the balcony outside the council room, Louis could hear the younger and weaker guests excluded from the meeting gossiping below. Mingled voices swapped rumors and theories with equal measures of fear and excitement. Closing his eyes and concentrating, he focused in on one of many conversations:

"—murdered by a human. How embarrassing," a man was saying.

"It wasn't a human," an irritated person with a high-pitched voice interjected. "That's the whole—"

"You mean how ironic," said a third. "Killer killed!"

"Who was he? Some American?" yet another voice asked.

"Part of the 'Fang Gang,' you know." Louis thought this was said by the first man again, but he was quickly losing track of all the different speakers. "Baby Jenks and that lot."

"Who?"

"Haven't you read _Queen of the Damned?_ "

"Fang trash, more like." That was the irritated person again.

"Have some respect, the man died—"

"Who cares who he was when some inhuman creature is out there waiting to pick us off—"

"Inhuman? You mean just like us?"

"It was probably one of those ghosts, the solid ones—"

"Armand said it wasn't a ghost—"

"I don't care what the old coven master said—"

"Louis?" Lestat called, his voice loud and close in contrast to the distant gossipers.

Louis startled out of his reverie. "Yes, I'm listening," he said and came in from the balcony to join the others sitting around the large conference table.

Louis took an empty seat and tried to pretend he was following along with the conversation. Marius was leading the discussion, looking like a Roman Senator dressed in his purple banded tunic. His timeless demeanor was punctured somewhat by the flat screen monitor hanging behind him displaying a hastily assembled PowerPoint slide deck.

Most of the other council members at the table were unfamiliar to Louis. He knew them only as characters in Lestat's latest book. Louis felt self-consciously out of place among them and rather wished he could melt into the background.

Gabrielle and the ancient vampire Sevraine had arrived only moments earlier from Turkey and the frost was still melting on their wool cloaks. Louis had never seen Sevraine before, but he'd heard about her from Lestat—of how she had been made against Akasha's wishes in the ancient days, and of the modern refuge she had made in the caves of Cappadocia where she dwelled surrounded by female admirers.

Louis tried to pay attention as they went over the details of the attack again for Sevraine and Gabrielle's benefit. They still had only sparse information shared over Benji's broadcasts and the confused images glimpsed through the telepathic network that linked all vampires.

"And they didn't think anything was amiss with this creature?" Sevraine asked.

"Yes, at first," Marius said. "Trinity Gate has become known to a group of humans who follow Benji's broadcasts by manipulating the digital files so they can listen to the voices hidden under the music. Benji assumed at first that this creature was only a very zealous 'fan.'"

Sevraine made a skeptical noise. She was very beautiful in the menacing way that some vampires had. You couldn't admire her without also being afraid that she might notice you looking. "He should be more careful not to reveal the location he broadcasts from."

"These 'fans' are very clever," Marius said, coming to his fledgling's defense. "They were able to find the house based on only a few scattered hints and certain hidden digital information. But it was probably inevitable that Trinity Gate's location would be revealed. The entire vampire community knows where Armand's home is on Manhattan and as a group we are not nearly as good at keeping such secrets from mortals as we like to think."

"I suppose," Sevraine said. "So Killer intervened after this thing accosted Benji?"

"Benji was able to escape from it quite easily," Marius said. "But he realized that, whatever this being was, it wasn't human. Killer was sent to investigate and tried to bring the thing in to be questioned. That's when the altercation happened."

Sevraine shook her head. "Such a vicious attack. Is it true the thing broke open Killer's skull and tasted the contents?"

"Yes, the parallel to the manner in which the core is transferred cannot be avoided." Marius paused to throw a significant glance around the table and make sure everyone was listening. "Armand and Benji say that the creature was chanting the name 'Amel' and it seemed to try to send a message through the blood before they captured it." There was a collective nervous shuffle at that.

"A message?" Sevraine repeated. "To all of us?"

"No…" Marius said. "It seemed to be directed at Amel itself."

Louis turned to look at Lestat, but he was examining his fingernails and seemed disarmingly unruffled by this news.

"What did it say?" Sevraine asked.

"I'm not sure. We'll have to ask Armand when he arrives. It was something about seeing him again after 'all these centuries.'"

" _Seeing_ him?"

Marius nodded. "That's what it said."

There was a pause in the conversation before Gregory interjected with a shake of his head, "Ridiculous that they let him escape." He was supposedly the oldest being in the room, even older than Akasha's son Seth whom he was seated next to, and yet Gregory looked the perfect picture of a modern man with his short hair and tailored business suit. The disguise was enhanced by his practice of sleeping exposed to the sun every day, which gave his skin a rich brown color and the heavily-lined appearance of a human who had sunbathed too much in his youth. Seth, in contrast, was a cipher with the smooth, mask-like face expected of an elder vampire. He still wore the clean white robes of Egyptian royalty and had yet to say more than a word or two of soft agreement throughout the meeting.

"I still don't understand how they could be so careless," Gregory said, speaking again when no one jumped to agree with him.

"It took advantage of the coming dawn," Marius said. "And surprised them with its unnatural strength. Armand said it was as strong as eight or ten men."

"That was how it was able to overpower Eleni?" Sevraine asked.

"Yes, she was left alone to watch over it while Armand and Benji went to ready a crypt to hold it during the day. Somehow the thing was able to slip its bonds and attack her. Armand said it was drinking her blood and he believes it intended to open her skull up as well before it was interrupted"

Sevraine made a thoughtful noise and touched her hand to her mouth. "Is it possible the thing intended to steal the blood? Might it be an alchemist like Magnus that has extended its life by occult knowledge and learned of the secret of our existence?"

"Quel secret?" Gabrielle scoffed and threw a pointed look down the table at her son. Continuing in French, she added, "Anyone who can read knows our history these days."

Lestat was currently slouching in his Louis XIV chair with one leg drawn up and crossed over his lap, his foot resting casually on his knee. He looked more like an insolent teenager than a monarch. "Speak English, Mother," he said distractedly, using the familial address instead of her name in reprimand. "English is the language of the court."

Gabrielle made a disgusted noise and folded her arms across her chest.

"There's more, or, there might be," Gregory said, seeming reluctant to continue. "Dr. Fareed identified a woman in my employ at Collingsworth Pharmaceuticals, a geneticist, who he suspects is not human—"

"Another one?" Sevraine said. "Why didn't you tell us this before?"

"I'm telling you now," Gregory said without turning toward her. "It's probably nothing, but Fareed and Seth went to Geneva to look through her office. It seems she used an alias when Collingsworth hired her, but Fareed managed to trace her to another identity in the United States."

"Did you meet this woman? How could you not realize she wasn't human?" Sevraine asked, but Gregory ignored her.

"Where in the US?" Marius asked.

"On the California coastline somewhere, hold on—" Gregory patted the pockets of his jacket until he found his phone and pulled it out to consult his messages. "Bolinas," he said. "Fareed said he would send one of his employees in California to look into it, although I doubt they'll find anything useful. The woman seems to have made an effort to disguise the real purpose of her research. Fareed found articles on the internet saying she used to own a sort of clinic out in California, one of those new-age medical places—what's that word? Homeopathic."

Looking over Gregory's shoulder, Louis noticed the edge of an image in the stream of messages on his phone screen. "Is that a photograph of her?"

"Oh, yes." Gregory enlarged the image and turned the phone so they could all see. It was a headshot of an attractive woman in her 30s wearing a lab coat, probably taken from her Collingsworth Pharma ID.

"She looks very much like the attacker in New York, doesn't she?" Marius said, and brought up a photograph of him on the screen to compare. The image of the attacker was less high quality, taken from the surveillance cameras at Trinity Gate, but the resemblance between them was apparent. Both had the same dark hair and round faces with large black eyes.

"They could be siblings," Sevraine said. "And both have a streak in their hair, see?" She motioned to the side of the man's head where a lock of lighter hair stood out in contrast to the rest. "Benji mentioned it in his description."

"Maybe they're related," Gregory said. "This woman and the man in New York, Garekyn Zweck Brovotkin."

"Garekyn Zweck Brovotkin?" Gabrielle repeated incredulously.

"Yes, that's the name," Gregory said. "He has papers identifying him as a Russian citizen and we found an apartment owned by him in London."

"An odd name," Marius agreed. "Brovotkin must be Russian but Zweck is a German name and I've never heard of a 'Garekyn' before."

"It's probably a made up name," Gregory said. "Or stolen. The woman was using the name Karen Rhinehart, but we've traced that back to a dead German woman. Identity theft."

"We all know how names can seem silly as time passes and the fashion changes," Marius said. "Maybe Garekyn is a very old one."

"True," Sevraine said. "Like 'Duff Collingsworth,' for example." She glanced at Gregory and smiled, but he ignored her jest.

There was a tension between the two of them that puzzled Louis. Supposedly Gregory had made Sevraine into a vampire back in the days when his name was Nebamun and he served as the captain of Akasha's guard. The two had been separated for thousands of years, only meeting again recently, and yet Gregory was behaving as if they were total strangers. The entire discussion he seemed to avoid looking at or acknowledging Sevraine as much as possible. It was as if her presence embarrassed him in some way. Perhaps he didn't like being reminded of the ancient past he had worked so hard to divest himself of. Or perhaps there were other, more personal reasons. They certainly weren't alone in having a fraught relationship between maker and child.

"Lestat," Marius said, turning to him. "What does Amel have to say about all of this?"

Lestat shrugged. He was tapping his fingers on the table in apparent boredom, seemingly unaffected by the agitation of the rest of council members. "I don't know, he's been gone since the attack happened yesterday."

Louis frowned at the lie. Hadn't Amel been present less than an hour ago when they were on the roof? Maybe he had left again and Lestat simply didn't want to go into the details of his coming and goings?

"It doesn't matter," Lestat continued, responding to something Marius had said when Louis was distracted. "I doubt Amel has any better idea than we do about the origin of these creatures. His memory is a fractured mess. He's a being of the eternal present."

"Still, it would be good to ask him about it when he returns," Marius said. "I'm very concerned about what this creature in New York was trying to communicate to Amel. And I don't know what to make of the connection to this scientist in Geneva… there are pieces of a larger picture here which might be very disturbing when they are all assembled."

"There's no point in being alarmist," Gregory said. "The woman is probably a human scientist who became aware of our existence and wanted a closer look. It's happened before, but of course no one believes them when they try to publish. And this Garekyn is probably a crazed fanatic that knows the name Amel from Lestat's books and Benji's broadcasts. Realizing it was all real and not fiction, he desired to join the ranks of the immortals."

"An ordinary mortal who was strong enough to kill a vampire?" Marius said incredulously.

Gregory looked on the verge of rolling his eyes but held himself in check. "Yes, it's unfortunate what happened to Killer, but afterward Armand was able to capture the thing easily enough. There's no reason to jump to wild assumptions that this is some new supernatural being or a dangerous threat."

"Captured easily enough, but not held," Sevraine said. "And when it escaped it nearly killed Eleni as well!"

The conversation continued in circles like this for the better part of an hour, but they were unable to come to any decision on what to do in response to the potential threat, or even if it was a threat in the first place. Louis felt completely out of place and useless throughout. He was deeply relieved that no one had asked if he had any opinions.

When the meeting was finished, most of the council members remained in the room chatting casually. Gabrielle departed without a word of goodbye and Louis watched her retreating back enviously. He was standing to the side, half listening to the conversation around him when Sevraine, who Louis still hadn't been properly introduced to, approached and touched his shoulder.

"It's good that you're here," she said. Her eyes were very bright and sharp, looking incongruously alive in her frozen marble features. "Everyone's agreed Lestat needs you."

 _Why_ Louis almost asked, confusion flooding him, but he crushed the feeling down. Years ago, living with Armand had taught him to guard the deeper layer of his thoughts and feelings and disguise them with bland pleasantries.

Sevraine was still smiling at him, and Louis felt compelled to fill the silence. "Thank you, I—hope I meet your expectations." He also hoped she would clarify what those might be.

"I'm sure you will," Sevraine said. "Gabrielle was pleased to hear you were coming as well."

"Oh, that's—very kind." Now that had to be a polite exaggeration. Louis always had the impression that Gabrielle found him rather dull and unremarkable. She hadn't acknowledged him once throughout the entire meeting. He had a hard time believing she would take any notice of his presence or absence.

"We are all _quite_ agreed," Sevraine said, her eyes moving away from Louis to someone behind him. "Isn't that right, Gregory?"

The question felt pointed, although Gregory only came up to them and smiled blandly in response. "Yes, of course."

Sevraine turned back to Louis. "Gregory can be somewhat… jealous of the prince's time, but I'm sure he'll learn to make room for other suitors."

Gregory chuckled and glanced at Sevraine and then away, never making eye contact with Louis. "Yes, well, there is much to consider with the new court. Our numbers swell every night." He turned and motioned toward the stairs. "Shall we?"

Sevraine nodded goodbye to Louis and followed Gregory out down the stairwell. He took a moment to breathe and try to keep his composure. The very idea of these elders discussing him was chilling. Clearly somehow they had gotten a mistaken impression of Louis. Everyone seemed to expect him to have a calming effect on Lestat, which was outright laughable given their history. The two of them together was like adding fuel to dry wood. Louis was more likely to cause an explosion than to put out the flames when Lestat was agitated.

The misunderstanding must have come from the fact that their time in New Orleans was the most stable period of Lestat's life, but that wasn't because of Louis; Claudia was a check on both of their worst tendencies and her presence enforced a stalemate that was a close approximation of peace.

Lestat was currently off talking in hushed tones with Marius who wanted to reconvene the council the moment Armand and Benji arrived at the chateau. Louis wondered if he could be excused from this next meeting or if Lestat would expect him to attend as well.

As Lestat's conversation with Marius dragged on, Louis was left standing at the edge of the now-empty room outside the ring of council chairs without anyone to talk to. He hesitated, unsure if he should wait for Lestat or continue downstairs himself. He resolved to wait in part because that was what he had promised yesterday in New Orleans—to always be on Lestat's side, whether literally or metaphorically—and in part because he was still unfamiliar with the chateau's layout and didn't actually know _where_ he would go if he left on his own.

They finally wrapped up their conversation and Lestat broke away from Marius. He brightened and smiled when he spotted Louis standing near the doorway, which affirmed his decision to stay.

Lestat ushering Louis down to the ground floor and out of the tower, eager to recommence their tour. They passed through a whirlwind of glittering rooms and Louis soon found himself thoroughly disoriented by the confusing labyrinth of salons and galleries that composed the heart of the chateau. Lestat had always tended toward clutter in his decorating and every room was littered with furniture, statuary, and decorative pedestals. It was a good thing vampires were naturally graceful or his visitors would be constantly in danger of tripping.

Each lavishly decorated space seemed to blend into the next in an explosion of overlapping luxury. It reminded Louis a bit like being inside of a large convention center or a modern casino: a vast building that was designed to swallow up and envelop visitors in an alternative world that was disconnected from ordinary life.

Lestat at last brought him to the main entrance hall, a palatial room of white marble with dozens of crystal chandeliers hanging from the high ceiling. Louis was surprised to see a number of vampires there hanging decorations. They were all dressed similarly in black tailcoats with gold trim that suggested a servant's livery.

"Who are they?" Louis asked, tilting his head back to watch two women who were floating near the ceiling hanging garlands of flowers above the chandelier.

"Oh, staff," Lestat said, dismissively.

"Staff?"

"Of course! You can't run a household this large without staff."

"Yes, of course," Louis said. "But…" He lowered his voice. "I would have thought you'd hire mortals for that. I'm surprised you found vampires willing to, uh, take employment."

Lestat laughed. "It was quite easy, actually," he said, not bothering to moderate his volume. "The ones that get to board at the chateau consider themselves very lucky! We have more clamoring to come join us than we have room for them all. I'm breaking ground in the spring for a new addition that will add another 200 rooms…" Lestat broke off as he became distracted by two of the "staff" who were carrying a concert piano through the room. "Be careful of the paneling in the salon!" he shouted after them.

"Is there going to be a performance?" Louis asked.

Lestat turned back to him and flashed Louis a bright smile. "Naturally, you can't have a dance without music."

"...there's going to be a dance?"

"Of course!" Lestat spread his hands wide, motioning to the decorations going up around them. "You can't be introduced to the court without the proper ceremony!"

"Oh." Louis must have blanched because Lestat's face clouded with irritation. A heavy feeling of dread was starting to settle into Louis' stomach. "I thought… well, I mean, with everything that's happened… that it wouldn't be appropriate to be holding any public celebrations."

Lestat's expression eased. "No, no, don't worry about that. The council talked about canceling tonight, but in the end everyone agreed that it was better to continue as normal. It would only make people anxious if we started acting like we were under siege."

"I suppose…"

"Besides, the floral arrangements have already been delivered and I spent a fortune on them. I don't need yet another reason for Marius to complain about my entertainment budget."

"Naturally." Louis paused. "Did you say _tonight?_ " he asked, trying to sound casual and not at all horrified.

"Yes, the guests should be arriving in about three hours," Lestat said, consulting his phone. "Speaking of which, I'd better go make sure the ballroom is ready."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can't have a vampire monarchy without an elaborate vampire ball.

Lestat soon found himself distracted by the many pressing decisions that needed to be made before the night's festivities. (Should the staff wear white or black gloves? Should they hang the crimson or the scarlet curtains? Should the entrance bouquets feature chrysanthemums or dahlias?) He suggested that Louis go back to his new rooms to rest while he was busy supervising the preparations, which was fine by Louis. 

Louis got lost twice on his own and had to ask one of the busy "staff" vampires for assistance to find the south tower again. When he finally made it back, he discovered that in the intervening time someone had taken the liberty of moving him into his new quarters. His personal belongings from New Orleans and New York had materialized throughout: a favorite painting was hanging in the front parlor, his clothing (with notable edits) was arranged in a bedroom wardrobe, and a number of curios and mementos he'd collected over the years were scattered about. He was rather startled since he had no idea anyone had been sent to fetch his things. It was faintly embarrassing that such a fuss had been made, but Louis supposed that such demands were the prerogative of a prince. 

Even Louis' books had been brought from Trinity Gate and lined up on the shelves in the library. They were a rather motley assemblage. Most of them had been collected from used book stores and charity shops over the past decade in New York. Louis had more books in storage he could send for, although Lestat would probably prefer to buy him brand new ones with fancy bindings that would look more dignified on the antique oak shelves. 

Louis went back to the parlor and stood at the large, south-facing windows. He could see the headlamps of cars coming down the private drive that connected the chateau to the main road that ran through the village. Lestat had said there would be hundreds of visitors arriving tonight, vampires coming from all over France and Europe and even further afield. 

Louis found himself wondering what in the world he was doing here. He had felt out of place from the moment he stepped into the chateau. He didn't understand how he was supposed to fit into Lestat's life of official princely business and lavish public entertainments. 

There was a wooden box sitting on a side table next to the windows, an antique Louis had picked up somewhere for the delicate inlaid wood pattern on the lid. It looked rather drab next to the opulence of the rest of the furnishings. Louis himself felt a bit like a knickknack from an earlier, less aspirational period of Lestat's life. He'd been taken out and dusted off out of nostalgia, only to see that the wood was scuffed and the inlaid mother-of-pearl was made of cheap glass. He would look out of place on the mantelpiece surrounded by all of Lestat's newer and more fashionable _objets d'art._

Louis wondered if it was too late to sneak away. He could probably make his escape via the roof without anyone noticing… but Lestat would be terribly embarrassed if Louis disappeared. Perhaps he could just ask to skip this first event and save his official debut for another night… but everyone would be undoubtedly expecting to see him. _Lestat_ was clearly expecting him to attend as a sort of formal inauguration of Louis' new position at court. 

Louis turned away from the windows and tried to calm himself. He had agreed to this, for god's sake, and he'd known exactly what he was getting into. He couldn't fail in his duties on the very first night. 

Louis went back to the library and tried rearranging the paltry few shelves of his books to calm himself. Whoever had fetched Louis' collection had made a valiant attempt at arranging them in alphabetical order by author's last name, but they had interfiled fiction and nonfiction which Louis found abhorrent. 

He felt calmer after he had separated all of the novels and arranged the biographies on their own shelf. He debated further splitting his collection by era or stylistic movement, but decided it was too small for such divisions to be useful. When he was done, he went through the rest of the rooms and started rearranging the furniture more to his liking. He was feeling almost normal by then, his anxiety pushed down so that it felt more like a billiard lodged in his chest rather than an entire bowling ball. He just had to keep himself distracted with minutia until midnight when the dance was scheduled to begin and it would be too late for him to flee.

Louis was still feeling skittish when Lestat arrived to fetch him for the evening. He'd spent a good portion of the last hour sorting through the mountain of clothes Lestat had arranged to be placed in his new dressing room and after much indecision he'd managed to pick out an outfit. Louis thought he was dressed suitably, but of course Lestat took one look at him and shook his head. 

"Here, try this," Lestat said, selecting a tighter fitting jacket to exchange for the boxier, modern cut Louis was wearing. After declaring the switch an improvement, he considered Louis' necktie options for several minutes before settling on a paisley silk scarf. 

Despite the fussing, Lestat was acting overly solicitous with him, never outright insulting his clothing choices. He was clearly trying to be on his "best behavior" at the moment. He was always more careful of Louis' feelings when they reunited after a separation. Louis would know that things were back to normal between them when Lestat started casually impugning his dress sense again.

"Well?" Louis asked. "Am I presentable?"

Lestat took Louis' by the shoulders and turned him so they were standing side by side in the full length mirror that hung on the dressing room wall. He put his hand to his chin and considered the picture they made together. Lestat was wearing considerably more layers of lace and embroidery, but Louis thought they complemented each other well. 

Louis took some comfort in the familiarity of the moment. Lestat used to love to stop when they were on their way out somewhere and check their reflection in the heavy mirror hanging in the entryway. If Claudia was with them, Lestat would often solicit her advice and the two of them together inevitably decided that Louis needed a different hat or collar or other accessory. 

"It will do." Lestat said finally. "Come, let's go remind everyone how devilishly handsome we are."

He offered his arm and Louis took it as they went out. How many times had they made the same motion exiting the gate to the townhouse and walking arm-in-arm down Rue Royale? The weight of those years pressed down on Louis and he wondered if every step he'd taken for the past two centuries was leading here.

They exited the tower into the central wing of the chateau, entering the area that would have been the main living quarters years ago. Lestat led the way through a seemingly endless series of elegant salons cluttered with Louis XIV furniture. The rooms were all beautifully and elaborately decorated in the same fantasy _Ancien Régime_ style as all the rest of the chateau. It was a bit like visiting a confused, Disneyland version of Versailles where every perfectly-placed detail was a reminder of the underlying deception. 

The salons were empty of any guest, but a dull roar gradually became noticeable in the distance: the mingled voices of a large crowd of people all speaking at once. The sound grew louder as they entered an enormous long gallery lined with mirrors and crystal chandeliers. After walking what felt like the entire length of the chateau, the gallery opened up onto a balcony overlooking a vast open space. Below, a sea of guests seethed in formal dress. Most had opted for pre-Revolutionary suits and gowns, which seemed to be the preferred style of court dress. There were so many of them—one hundred? Two hundred guests? More even than had gathered at Trinity Gate during the burnings last year. More vampires than Louis had ever seen in one place in his entire life. 

"The great hall," Lestat said, speaking softly into Louis' ear. "I had it turned into a ballroom since I don't expect to be hosting very many formal dinners." Louis nodded. It made sense. Vampires had no need for a banquet hall, but dancing was one of the favorite pastimes of the undead no matter what century they hailed from. 

A small orchestra was seated on the far side of the room, but Louis couldn't make out the melody above the noise of the crowd. There was a dull thrumming of percussion beneath the roar of conversation, but then again maybe that was only the beating of his own heart.

No one below seemed to have noticed them standing above on the balcony and Louis felt conscious that this was his last somewhat-private moment before he was introduced to the court at large. He would have liked to pause and compose himself, but Lestat nudged him forward to continue walking. They crossed to the opposite side of the balcony where a large formal staircase descended to the floor below. Louis was starting to feel a bit panicked, but Lestat started down the steps without giving him any time for hesitation. 

There was a quiet moment at the top of the stairs before they were noticed. In the space of a breath, Louis took in the vast ballroom and the crowd filing it. Faces of gleaming stone. An entire room of moving statues. Lestat's arm was tight against Louis' own as he urged him on inexorably with each step. The heavy Turkish carpet runner threatened to trip Louis with its luxurious thickness. He wanted to steady himself, but the balustrades were decorated with garlands of flowers that made them quite useless as a railing. 

Heads began to turn toward them and a hush spread as Louis and Lestat descended. Lestat was already starting to plump up under the attention, his smile widening and his shoulders going back in pride. Louis kept his head up and tried to focus on disguising his nerves. The orchestra paused abruptly and switched into a regal march to announce the prince's arrival. The melody was vaguely familiar, but Louis didn't have time to place it before the music was drowned out by applause. Lestat raised his hand to acknowledge the crowd and the cheers grew louder. 

Seth, Gregory, and Sevraine came to the bottom of the stairs to greet them. All three were dressed in ways that made them stand out from the sea guests in _Ancient Regime_ costume—Seth in a simple linen robe, Gregory in a dark modern suit, and Sevraine in a loose-fitted gown with trailing sleeves. They were the heart of the council, three of the oldest living vampires and among the most powerful of their kind. If Lestat ruled now, it was thanks to their support and approval. Lestat went to each of them and shook their hands, greeting them like long-lost friends despite the fact that he had seen them only a few hours earlier in the council chamber. Louis stood to the side and watched, as much of a spectator as the other vampires around them. 

The march came to its final crescendo and the orchestra launched into a waltz, indicating that the night's festivities could now begin. The crowd divided in half to clear the center of the room for dancing and the focused attention of the court shifted away from them as sounds of talking and laughter resumed. Louis felt relieved that there would not be any formal opening number where he might be expected to dance. A good number of people were still standing nearby waiting to speak with Lestat, but he felt less like he was standing at center stage.

"You've met my blood wife, Chrysanthe, of course," Gregory was saying as he presented a woman with honey-brown hair to Lestat. 

"Of course, _enchanté,_ as always." Lestat took her hand and kissed it while Chrysanthe laughed. Apparently the "English only" rule didn't apply when Lestat was trying to be charming. 

Lestat glanced over his shoulder and beckoned Louis to come join the loose circle of elders. Louis had met Chrysanthe before, but it seemed re-introductions were in order. Fareed was there with Seth as well, back from his errand in Geneva, but Sevraine seemed to be alone. Gabrielle must have found an excuse not to attend. Louis rather envied her. The group exchanged a few pleasantries as the elder vampires made a show of how congenial and close they were. 

Louis found himself standing next to Fareed and Chrysanthe discussing the evening's musical selections while Lestat spoke with the others. As he looked around him he had the surreal realization that the three of them were all there as accessories of their more significant partners.

Louis wanted to quiz Fareed about the mysterious woman who had infiltrated Gregory's labs, but the doctor seemed tired of the whole affair. When Louis asked him if they'd discovered anything new in Geneva, he shook his head and sighed. "Nothing, she covered her tracks too well. We might be able to piece together something of her research from the laboratory records, but I don't have much hope of that. She had to be tremendously skilled and clever to infiltrate the company in the first place. We might never have discovered her if it weren't for the attack in New York raising suspicions."

"What about the clinic she used to run in California?" Louis asked. "Has anyone looked into that yet?"

"Yes, to much the same effect." Fareed sighed and rubbed his forehead in a very human gesture. "So far, there's no clues where she might have gone and I doubt we'll find any. She's had a decade working at Collingsworth Pharmaceutical to learn about us and prepare for this moment."

"It's all very thrilling, in a way," Chrysanthe said. "Like something out of a spy novel." 

"Yes, it's certainly been... exciting." Fareed cleared his throat. He looked around them, taking in the busy ballroom and the elaborate decorations. "But I'm glad to be here now and in good company. You know I don't tend to get out much. Sometimes I forget to take a night off and spend an entire week underground. Seth has to come get me sometimes and remind me to eat."

"It sounds like a pleasant existance," Louis said. "Being able to really focus on your work and to have a group of fellow scientists around you."

Fareed smiled and nodded. "Yes, I'm lucky Seth has been so supportive of my work, without him none of it could have been possible. All that I've achieved, what we've discovered… and there's so much more!" He was becoming more animated now, the bland pleasantry of small talk giving way to reveal his deep passion for his life's work. "There's so much we don't know yet. We've hardly the faintest idea what being a blood drinker really _means._ " 

"Very true," Louis said, finding that he was warming to the doctor. "I don't want to corner you now, but some night I would like to hear more about your experiments. Or even come to see your facilities." 

"Oh, have you never been?" Chrysanthe asked. When Louis shook his head, she clapped her hands together in dismay. "Oh, you really must, it's amazing! The Paris lab is just getting started but the laboratory out in Palm Springs is massive and they're doing such interesting work. Gregory and I have visited many times. There's always some new experiment happening, some new breakthrough. And there are so many beautiful places to visit in California." 

"I have missed that part of the world," Louis said. "I haven't been to the West Coast in years." 

"You must come then." Fareed said. "Hopefully we'll have something interesting to show off." He looked away, seeming faintly embarrassed. "Not all of our work is always so... revolutionary. I'd like to get back to more pure research and away from these clinical trials."

"You're too modest," Chrysanthe insisted. "And your medications _are_ revolutionary." 

"Medications?" Louis repeated, unsure what she meant. 

Fareed made a dismissive wave of his hand. "Oh, you know, I'm still attempting to refine the hormone therapies," he said, furthering Louis' confusion. "It's one of the few areas where our body's resistance to senescence can be successfully suspended. It's only recently that I've had enough volunteers to do proper trials, but I think if I can better understand the mechanics the potential is there for many other possible applications."

"When you say applications, do you mean—" Louis' question was interrupted by Lestat's sudden reappearance at his side. 

"Let's not monopolize the good doctor," Lestat said with a wink. "We should go make the rounds." He touched Louis' lower back to steer him away from Fareed and Chrysanthe and toward the crowded ballroom floor. There were a number of guests hovering nearby who were clearly waiting for the opportunity to speak with the higher-ranked vampires. 

Louis felt a bit irritated by the interruption, but the other two didn't seem to take offense. "Yes, we'll see you later," Fareed called after them while Chrysanthe waved them away warmly. 

Louis shot Lestat an irritated look, but Lestat ignored him. He pulled Louis along as he approached the nearest group of courtiers. 

"How wonderful to see you here tonight," Lestat said and greeted a male and female pair by name. "I hope by now you've completed the renovations on your new pied-a-terre?" 

"We have, just about," said the woman, clearly overjoyed to be speaking with the prince. Dozens of others pressed in around them with similar expressions of fawning attention. It was like watching fans lining up to meet a favorite celebrity, which, Louis supposed, was exactly what they were. 

"Allow me to introduce Monsieur Pointe du Lac," Lestat said and raised his hand to touch Louis' shoulder. 

"Pleased to make your acquaintance," Louis said. The couple seemed unsure how to greet him—was a bow or a handshake more appropriate?—but settled for exaggerated nods and smiles. 

"How do you find the court?" the man asked. 

"Oh, it's impressive. Very… very," Louis said and trailed off, unsure what else to say. Fortunately, Lestat cut the interaction short by thanking the couple for coming and turning away to greet two women standing off to the side. 

"Ladies, wonderful to see you again, may I introduce Monsieur Pointe du Lac…?"

In this manner, Lestat worked his way methodically through the crowd. There seemed to be no end to the parade of courtiers waiting eagerly for their opportunity to speak with the prince. There was constantly a loose circle of them waiting nearby and hanging on every overheard snippet of small talk. Whenever Lestat made some minor bon mot they all laughed in unison. When they weren't staring with longing at Lestat, the spectators were throwing curious glances at Louis, who felt a crawling discomfort at all these onlookers. He could feel their curious eyes on him like the heat of a spotlight. 

Louis tried to block out the sense of the attentive audience and focus on the individuals in front of him. Louis had always been able to get a certain amount of enjoyment out of watching Lestat charm other people, and he was in full form tonight. Lestat somehow managed to remember everyone's names and at least one personal detail about their lives. It was a familiar scene. He and Louis might have been at one of the fashionable salons or the balls they used to haunt in New Orleans a century earlier.

Lestat moved easily from one encounter to the next, seamlessly greeting each new vampire in turn and spending the perfect amount of time socializing before making excuses and moving on to the next. Everyone had a precious moment with the prince, and everyone longed for more. 

The conversations were all quite similar with the same questions being repeated over and over. Nearly everyone asked about the attack in New York, but Lestat quickly dismissed their concerns with casual jokes and references to the power of the council. This seemed to be effective in settling their anxieties. All of his guests were happy to accept Lestat's assessment that the nonhuman attackers were not a real threat. 

Everyone also seemed to want to know how Louis was enjoying the court, but he was quickly running out of enthusiastic responses. He'd only been here a few hours, how could he know if he liked it or not? But, yes, the chateau was very beautiful and, yes, the orchestra's playing was very fine, and, yes, it was wonderful how many "blood drinkers" were here tonight. Louis felt increasingly aware of his own insincerity as he tried to match the eagerness of everyone else. Surely they must be able to hear the false note in his voice as he agreed about the magnificence of the chateau for the tenth time in as many minutes. 

Louis wondered what he must seem like to these strangers. Withdrawn and sullen, probably. Elusive, if they were being charitable. It must seem odd that Lestat had spent so much energy on regaining him, but then that was part of the point. His presence proved that even Lestat's most reclusive fledgling was drawn to the wonder of the new court. It showed both that Lestat always got his way, and that even someone who had trespassed against him like Louis could be forgiven and welcomed in these halls. 

As he followed along beside Lestat, Louis found himself falling into the role of a gentleman host. Theoretically, he was part of the chateau household now and should do his best to make its guests feel welcomed. Hospitality was an ingrained habit and he soon fell into the familiar pattern of shallow, polite conversation. The more entitled vampires often had issues they wanted Lestat to address, leaving Louis to entertain any companions they had while Lestat heard their requests. 

In one couple, for instance, the husband raised his concerns to Lestat about a certain vampire who was rumored to be on his way to the court. The husband and this vampire had exchanged some very harsh and regrettable remarks in the 12th century which had resulted in several dead fledglings (also regrettable) and an enduring enmity. While they were discussing this, Louis spoke at length with the wife about her hobby of raising Chinese Crested Dogs. Louis found he had very little to say on the topic of Chinese Cresteds, but thankfully she did not take offense to the paucity of his remarks. 

Small talk was almost preferable to serious conversation. Toward the end of his chat with Madam of the Crested Dogs, she put her hand on his arm and said seriously, "It fills me with such hope to see you here tonight."

"Hope, madam?" Louis asked, gently pulling away and folding his hands behind his back. 

"That our worst trespasses might be forgiven," she said, her eyes gleaming with emotion as she looked up at him. "That love might be possible between devils."

Louis recognized the paraphrase and supposed he should be touched instead of faintly insulted. He smiled as he searched for a response. "I suppose it's for the best if others learn vicariously from reading about our mistakes. It is too much to hope that we have learned our own lessons." 

"Yes, indeed." She touched her hand to her chest as if he had said some priceless pearl of wisdom. Thankfully, by then Lestat was finished assuring her husband that he would keep his eye out for his rival, and they could move on to other visitors.

In the next group they joined, Louis recognized a few of the vampires as members of Armand's original Paris coven. There was Eugenie, Eleni's close companion, whom Louis had met the previous year at Trinity Gate, and several others who looked vaguely familiar. Lestat greeted them all with enthusiasm and listed off their names for Louis' benefit, albeit so quickly that Louis was unable to catch most of them. They had barely finished the introductions when Lestat was drawn off by another petitioner and left Louis to fend for himself. 

"Good evening," Louis said, directing himself toward Eugenie since she was the only person in the circle he had at least a passing acquaintance with. "You look lovely." It was true. She was dressed in a high-waisted Empire gown with short sleeves that looked wonderfully simple and fresh compared to the more ornate styles favored by most of the court.

Eugenie laughed and waved off the complement. "Don't we all?"

In a more serious tone, Louis continued, "I was glad to hear from Dr. Fareed that Eleni is improving."

"Yes, thank goodness," Eugenie said. "We were all very worried." 

Several of the others around the circle nodded and tutted their tongues in concern. 

"Oh, but you only just arrived," Eugenie said and touched Louis' arm in excitment. "Isn't it marvelous?"

Louis nodded. "Yes, I've never seen such a gathering. There are so many of us here." 

"Indeed, and from so many different eras," said an older woman next to Eugenie who had a name that started with an A. Alexandria, maybe. "Lestat has a great gift for bringing together the scattered remnants of our people." 

"Yes," said a man with a heavy French accent—Felix?— who spoke with such enthusiasm that all eyes were drawn to him. "The whole community is united behind the prince!" If he had a cup, he would have raised it toward Lestat in salute. Lestat, unfortunately for his ego, didn't seem to overhear as he was still standing with his back to them listening to the man who had buttonholed him. 

Everyone in their little group nodded their heads and made noises of agreement except for a tall young man at the edge of the circle who scoffed and muttered, "Not quite the _whole_ community..." 

Eugenie flinched and several others shuffled with embarrassment. 

"The vast majority," maybe-Felix said, glaring at the tall man. "The _significant_ members of our community." 

"He'll come around, eventually," the older woman said. "Never have so many of our kind been gathered together in friendship. Truly, it is an achievement for the ages."

"Here, here!" someone behind Louis exclaimed, setting off other cries of approval and even some scattered applause from the crowd nearby. 

In the midst of the cheers, Louis leaned toward Eugenie and asked in an undertone, "I'm sorry, but who is 'he'?" He'd assumed that the raised voices around them would drown out the sound of his question, but instead the conversation came to a grinding halt. A half-dozen pairs of eyes turned to look at him and there was an awkward exchange of glances that had Louis wishing desperately that he hadn't asked. 

"Oh," Eugenie said, dismissively. "Rhosh still hasn't reconciled himself to Lestat's selection as the prince." 

Belatedly, Louis realized that the group he was standing in was almost entirely made up of Rhoshamandes' fledglings. Eugenie and Felix had both been made by him before being captured by the Children of Darkness. The older woman must be the old "crone," Allesandra, that Lestat had spoken of in his memoir and the sardonic tall man at the back was surely Everard de Landen, Eleni's maker. All of them had been born to darkness together in Rhoshamandes' medieval court. 

Everard made a disgusted noise. "He might find it easier to accept if he spent less time nursing his wounded ego and more time reflecting on his own misdeeds." 

"Yes, more contrition on his part is in order," Felix agreed. "For what he did he should hide his face for a millennia. Exile should be the _least_ —" 

"I haven't exiled anyone," Lestat said loudly, returning to the circle with a flourish. "Rhoshamandes is welcome to attend the court just as any other vampire. I hold no ill will toward him."

"I don't think the feeling is mutual," Everard said in an undertone. Allesandra gave him a pointed look. 

"Last I heard he's sulking in Budapest with Roland," Felix said.

"Good, let him recuperate," Lestat said, raising his voice as if he wanted to be sure everyone eavesdropping on their conversation could hear him clearly. "I wish him the best and no vampire should dare to raise a hand against him on my account." 

Allesandra nodded. " _'_ Sweet mercy is nobility's true badge.'" 

" _Titus Andronicus_ ," Lestat said, turning to her with relish. "Yes, one of my favorites. It's lamentable how rarely it's performed."

"More often since the 20th century," Eugenie said. 

"Yes, it seems to be having something of a revival—" thus Lestat steered the conversation toward the theatrical arts and away from more perilous political topics. Louis resolved to stay silent in the future until he was more aware of the tensions and undercurrents of the court. 

After an appropriate amount of time had passed—enough to show approbation without showing favor—Lestat excused himself and Louis and they continued on their circuit around the room. 

They came across Pandora some time later standing to the side of the dance floor along with Bianca. After meeting so many strangers, Louis felt relieved to speak with someone he actually knew. He'd last seen her in New York in the midst of the crisis when they'd waltzed together at the strange impromptu fete at Trinity Gate. 

While Lestat was flattering Bianca, Louis turned to Pandora and asked the obligatory question to get it out of the way. "How do you find the court?"

"I've been enjoying it," Pandora said. "I've seen many old friends here, even some I thought were long dead."

"That's good," Louis said. "I saw Marius on the council earlier but we didn't have the chance to speak."

"Yes, I'm sure he's probably lurking about somewhere," Pandora said with affectionate humor. "We've had many talks in recent nights. Conversations that were long overdue."

"It seems to be a common theme," Louis said. "Reunions, I mean."

"I guess it's inevitable that old relationships would be rekindled here." She paused and smiled impishly before adding, "For more reasons than one."

Louis made a noise of agreement although he wasn't entirely sure what she was alluding to. He felt mildly embarrassed by her confidential manner and steered the conversation towards less personal grounds. 

As they chatted comfortably about previous events at the chateau that Pandora had attended, there was a ripple in the party-goers nearby. People were moving aside and made room for someone to pass. "Oh, sorry," a man on the edge of the crowd said with a note of fear in his tone as he stepped back. Through the gap, Armand glided out. 

His dark eyes fastened on Louis and he nodded to him as he came over to stand beside them. Louis meant to say hello, but his voice was stopped by a pang of loss seeing Armand here in the middle of the crowded chateau instead of at the peaceful haven of Trinity Gate. The awkward moment was covered thankfully when Lestat noticed who had come over and greeted him loudly.

Armand smiled at Pandora and Bianca and said something surly that made Lestat laugh. 

"What happened to Benji?" Bianca asked. "I thought he was coming with you?" 

"He was with me a minute ago," Armand said, glancing over his shoulder. "I think he stopped to sign autographs." He raised his eyebrows and looked pointedly at Lestat. "He's even more popular than the prince." 

"No one is more popular than me," Lestat said, offhand.

Armand shrugged. "Maybe not, but every regime needs a propagandist." 

Pandora made a face. " _Armand_." 

"I thought we were calling Benji the press secretary?" Bianca said with the tone of someone trying to end a recurring argument.

Lestat nodded. "Minister of communications." 

"Yes," Pandora said. "That's much better." 

As they talked and joked, Louis reflected on how Armand, Pandora, and Bianca were drawn to each other, all of Marius' children gravitating together. 

_Factions_. Little clans and lineages linked by the Blood. They weren't supposed to have such divisions here, but if Rhoshamandes' children formed one such group, did Marius' as well? And where did Louis fit in amongst these separate parties? Was he above such things as Lestat's companion? Or did the prince's fledglings form their own clique? That seemed unlikely. Gabrielle was more likely to be alone or with Sevraine these days, and Louis hadn't seen David yet although he was supposed to be here somewhere. Rose was off traveling with Viktor and then there were… others Louis didn't care to associate with. Most of them rarely associated with the others and they had never composed much in the way of a family unit. The very thought gave him a shiver of distaste.

Aware that he was being introspective, Louis made an effort to insert himself back into the conversation. "Is Sybelle playing tonight?" he asked, speaking during a lull.

"Yes," Armand said. "She usually performs toward the end of the night, either here or in one of the salons." 

"Good, I've missed her music," Louis said. He was touched with sadness again. Before she had departed for the court, their evenings at Trinity Gate had always been filled with the sound of Sybelle's piano playing. He had grown so used to hearing her practice at all hours that silence felt empty to him now. 

Lestat gave him a perturbed look. "I'll play for you if you like." 

"You're not as good as Sybelle," Louis said. 

Lestat made an affronted noise which amused Pandora and Bianca and made Armand roll his eyes. 

Louis would have liked to spend the whole evening talking with the three of them, but Lestat needed to continue making his rounds. It was probably for the best. Louis shouldn't be seen to linger with Armand for too long, not even with Lestat by his side. He was supposed to have moved on now and to be in his proper place with Lestat instead of in limbo waiting for his return. Not that Louis had ever thought of Trinity Gate that way.

Louis followed as Lestat began working his way through the crowd again, shaking hands and speaking with everyone who approached whether they were newborn fledglings or children of the millennium. Lestat was egalitarian in that way; he didn't really care about rank so long as everyone who approached him was properly awed by his presence. 

At half past midnight, there was a break in the music when the orchestra paused for an intermission. As the musicians cleared away, Lestat crossed the ballroom floor toward the emptying stage and pulled Louis along beside him. When they reached the edge of the stage, Louis hesitated, but Lestat squeezed his hand and ushered him up. 

Half the room had their eyes on them already and the rest of the crowd quieted as Lestat raised a hand. Everyone turned to hear what their new monarch had to say. Louis felt very aware that he was only standing at Lestat's side to complete the picture of him as the dashing and romantic prince in this fantasy kingdom. 

"I feel such joy tonight to be here with all of you, and to be joined by my beloved fledgling, Louis." Lestat turned to look at him and Louis looked back with what he hoped was an appropriate expression of adoration. His face felt stiff and hot with the sensation of hundreds of eyes upon him. Louis kept a tight rein on his thoughts, trying to keep them small and close. 

Lestat looked back across the crowd as he continued, his eyes picking out individuals and staring at them meaningfully one after another. "There is nothing more vital to a vampire than company, nothing more precious than companionship. Blood may feed us, but only a true union of minds keeps us alive through the centuries. I have known many who sank into despair from loneliness. Even I myself was once driven into the earth when solitude became too much to bear." 

Lestat's eyes returned to Louis. Deep feeling lined his face and Louis tried to match his intensity, although he wasn't sure what emotion Lestat wanted to elicit from him. Contrition probably. He did his best to look sorrowful and it seemed to please Lestat as a slight smile turned up his lips before he looked back at the crowd. 

"For too long have we lived isolated from one another with only a small handful of companions to walk by our side through the night. We are not lone individuals, but a community of beings. Whether at the court or through the airwaves, we must foster our connections to one another. Only as a society will we endure. Only through our shared love." 

The crowd applauded and Lestat led Louis back down from the stage as a trio of string musicians rushed to take their place. In short order, the three had arranged themselves and launched into a lively allemande. Louis heard the music as if from a distance. His movements felt slow, as if he was floating underwater as he followed Lestat off the stage and into yet another conversation with a waiting guest. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, the never-ending ball continues and ominous warnings abound.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dance continues and Louis has a series of awkward encounters.

Louis didn't feel particularly eager to get out on the dance floor, but he soon realized that it would be his only respite from the endless stream of guests waiting to ingratiate themselves with Lestat. When Louis found himself marooned making small talk with yet another "blood spouse" while Lestat handled her louder companion, he asked if she would do him the honor of the next waltz and she agreed. At least while dancing the only missteps he had to worry about making were literal rather than political. 

After the first song came to an end, the lady was soon whisked away by another dance partner, which relieved Louis of the duty of keeping her entertained. Lestat was still engaged in what looked like a particularly boring listening session, so Louis went looking for another partner. He soon found one in Gregory's wife, Chrysanthe, who was on her own on the outskirts of the crowd. 

Chrysanthe was cheerful and talkative even on the dance floor. As they spun around in slow circles, she peppered him with questions about his interests and history. Louis was increasingly weary of chat by then, but she was charming enough that there wasn't any difficulty in carrying on a conversation. After several rounds of her polite inquiries, Louis felt obliged to return the favor and ask about her own life. "And how did you meet Gregory?"

Chrysanthe smiled and her brown curls bounced around her face as she tossed her head. "We met quite by coincidence after Gregory woke from a centuries-long sleep. He was so lost then, and everything about the world confused him, but I was fascinated by him. He told such stories about the wonders of Egypt and of his service to the terrible 'Blood Queen.' At the time, I'd never been away from home and I longed to see more of the world." 

"It sounds very romantic."

She laughed. "I'm not sure it was, but it felt that way at the time."

"It's impressive that you're still together. Most vampires can't seem to make their partnerships last."

"It hasn't always been a smooth road…" She looked away, staring into the distance over his shoulder. "We spent most of the 10th and 11th centuries apart but I think we both needed that time to grow. Such breaks can be good for rekindling a love which has grown cold, don't you agree?"

Louis nodded seriously. "Yes."

Chrysanthe twisted her head to look behind her, perhaps searching the crowd for Gregory. "Lately he's been so caught up in his new company… it's been nice honestly to have these events to attend. It gives us an excuse to go out together, and I do love dancing."

"You're very accomplished at it."

"Thank you, and you as well. I do wish the orchestra would play a contredanse some night. But then we'd have to hold lessons for the young ones who weren't alive when they were popular. It's easier to stick with modern ballroom styles that everyone knows."

"I'm sure you would be an excellent teacher."

She laughed at his flattery and they turned a few more rounds companionably. 

The song was nearing its end when Chrysanthe said hesitatingly, "If I may say, you've also done well at... maintaining a long partnership."

Louis looked away over her head. "Not so very long."

"No, but you can tell, the ones who have the endurance to last."

Louis gave her a smile he wasn't feeling. "I suppose so." Searching for a way to redirect the conversation, he added, "Do you have any advice on the topic?"

"Relationship advice?" She looked taken aback. "I don't know… If I've learned anything over a millennia or so it's only this: learn to find his faults endearing because you're not going to change them." 

Louis chortled, surprised that she managed to startle a real laugh out of him. "Good advice."

"Is it?" Chrysanthe said, seeming pensive suddenly. "I'm not sure, but it's helped me over the years. And well... I find being surrounded by good company makes it easier to maintain a partnership." Her face brightened. "Gregory's friendship with Dr. Fareed for instance certainly has, uh, injected new spice into our lives." She giggled as if she was being very salacious. 

Louis wasn't sure what to make of her innuendo—was she implying a ménage à trois? Thankfully Louis was saved from responding when the music ceased and the dance came to an end. He bowed to Chrysanthe and then stepped away as another man approached to request the next dance with her. 

Louis went to stand to the side and watch the next number. He should probably go find Lestat again and stop shirking his duties. Still, just another song or two wouldn't hurt. 

Louis was blissfully alone for a solid minute before someone came up beside him. It was Gregory, presumably looking for his wife out on the dance floor. Louis greeted him with a silent nod of his head. He hoped that they might forgo the necessity of conversation, but after a moment of watching the dance Gregory cleared his throat and said, "A fine night."

"Yes," Louis agreed. 

"It's good that you could be here for it," Gregory said, never taking his eyes off the dancers. 

"Yes, I'm… glad that I came." 

The silence that followed felt uncomfortable and Louis was highly aware of what a poor conversationalist he was being. He searched for something more to say before finally landing on, "Chrysanthe is a wonderful woman."

"Thank you," Gregory said. "Yes, she's been my most precious companion for many, many years." 

"A relationship to be treasured," Louis said, banally. 

"I don't begrudge her dancing with others, of course," Gregory said, and it might have been a joke except that when he turned his head there was a strange intensity in his expression. It was the first time Gregory had looked directly at Louis all evening. "I find jealousy to be a very detestable trait in a blood drinker." 

Louis wasn't sure what to say to that so he nodded slowly and tried to look thoughtful to buy time. He realized that he didn't particularly like Gregory. There was something desperate about him despite his age and power, some weakness of spirit that made him feel untrustworthy. Louis had the sense that he was only pretending to be friendly while waiting for the opportunity to diminish him. "Possessiveness certainly can create problems over our long lifetimes," Louis said finally.

"Then you agree that we should not hold our loved ones too tightly?" Again that too close look, that uncomfortable eye contact.

"I—uh, yes, I suppose." Louis hated the uncertain stumble in his voice. 

"Good." Gregory leaned back looking satisfied, as if he'd extracted a concession from Louis. "I do enjoy my time with the prince." 

"I'm sure it's mutual." Louis tried to keep his smile vacant and not let his discomfort show. 

The song came to an end, and Louis took the opportunity to escape by turning to a neighboring lady and asking her for the next dance. 

The orchestra paused for an intermission after the next number and Louis finally went in search of Lestat, locating him toward the back of the ballroom. Much to Louis' relief, the number of hovering guests waiting to approach him had thinned somewhat while he was away. There were numerous courtiers to speak with, but the pace of their exchanges were less frantic than the first half of the night and they had more time to spend with each new petitioner. Lestat kept his arm around Louis throughout these conversations and Louis felt acutely aware of his possessive body language. It was uncomfortable, but Lestat was so transparently happy to have him present that Louis felt buoyed up by his energy. 

Truthfully, it was hard not to be flattered by all of the fawning attention. Many of the courtiers acted as if Louis' arrival was a long-awaited dream, saying things like, "we're so glad to have you here with us," or "we all know how Lestat had longed for your arrival." They all seemed to be unified in thought and feeling, always speaking of the community of vampires around the court as one collective "we." 

For the most part, everyone was gracious and welcoming, although there were a few unpleasant encounters and veiled insinuations that left Louis feeling uneasy. One woman in a blue gown leaned in while Lestat was distracted by another visitor and said softly, "We must be patient with our wandering prince--he does try to spread his attention fairly." The presumptuous _our_ bothered him but, more than that, her knowing tone. 

Toward the end of the night, Louis caught part of a whisper that stayed lodged in his mind as if it was a foreboding warning. Lestat had been drawn off by yet another guest to discuss some sensitive issue and Louis had stepped away to give them some privacy while also taking a moment for himself. He had slipped away from the crowd and was standing at the edge of the room under the guise of studying the artwork there when it happened. 

The murals on the walls of the ballroom were a series of Greek mythological scenes all done in the hyper-realistic style of vampire art. Seeing fantastical scenes painted with such vividness created an uncanny effect. The details of the texture and lighting were so perfect that from the right angle it could fool the eye completely. It almost felt as if you were staring at a frozen group of pantomimes rather than at a painting. Or as if the world within the mural was more real than the netherworld of vampires gazing upon it. Louis was peering at a panel which appeared to show Dionysus with a group of water nymphs when from some corner of the echoing ballroom he overheard a male voice saying, "—reunion honeymoon, but give it a few weeks, it won't last."

Louis' neck prickled with the certainty that he was being talked about and he turned his head to look at the edges of the crowd gathered around the dance floor. The volume of the other voices in the room grew louder as Louis scanned the room searching for the speaker. A few people here or there were looking at him, or toward him, but none of them seemed to be the source of the comment. He concentrated, trying to pick the man's voice from all the others. 

"—Louis?" a voice asked, loud and close right beside him. 

Louis startled out of his absorption to discover a familiar figure standing nearby. "Oh—ah, Marius."

Marius was dressed in long red robes with a dark fur cloak draped over his shoulders. He somehow looked both timeless and completely out of place in the ornate splendor of the ballroom. It was as if one of the classical figures on the murals had come to life and climbed down to join the party-goers. 

Marius clasped Louis' shoulder in greeting and looked away across the room. Louis realized that he was searching for Lestat in the crowd and, finding him still engaged, Marius stepped back and motioned for Louis to follow him to a quiet alcove. This side of the ballroom was designed with several hidden nooks and seating areas where one could sit and talk while still keeping an eye on the dancing. They settled into one such nook beside a pedestal with a decorative vase. Heavy curtains along the walls provided a deceptive sense of privacy, but, of course, with vampires around they must always be aware that their conversation might be overheard. 

"How do you find the court, Louis?" Marius asked. There was a note of concern in his tone that made him sound different from all the others who had asked Louis the same question. 

Louis hesitated. Marius was clearly fishing for something out of him, but he couldn't tell what. "I haven't seen much of it yet," he said carefully. "But so far it seems very… joyful." 

"Joyful, yes." Marius looked away and there was a dark cast to his face as he watched the dancers spinning through a Viennese waltz on the other side of the room. Louis wondered what Marius was seeing when he looked at the assembled vampires. He sensed there was a darker layer to the proceedings which was obscured just beyond his line of sight. "Cultivating joy is something of an obsession here." 

Louis considered carefully before replying. "I can't fault anyone for their happiness, but I imagine it can be trying if you're not in a joyful frame of mind."

"Indeed," Marius said and sighed. "Excuse my gloominess. It's the watchman's duty to point out dangerous waters so the captain may joyfully steer around them."

Louis wanted to ask what specific dangers Marius saw coming, but the crowded ballroom was not the place to discuss such things openly. "Lestat has always valued your counsel," he said instead. 

Marius smiled and looked at him with genuine amusement. "Not enough to _listen_ to it."

"Sometimes," Louis said shortly before breaking his gaze away. He turned toward the dance floor but his eyes wouldn't focus on the spinning pairs. Marius never seemed to remember the long shadow he had cast over Louis and Lestat's early years. Louis didn't resent it exactly—Lestat's choices were his own, whatever advice he'd been given—but sometimes he wondered if Marius never paused to consider the consequences of his wise counsel.

Marius sighed again and put his hand on Louis' shoulder. "In any event, it's good you're here. Amel was not alone in wanting you to come."

"What?" Louis stared up at Marius, unsure if he'd heard correctly. He felt the same creeping coldness he'd experienced on the roof watching Lestat flexing the fingers of his left hand. 

Marius met his gaze steadily. He looked at Louis with weighty significance that felt as heavy as the hand on his shoulder. "As I understand it, the spirit was very eager for your arrival." He released him and got up to leave. "We should talk soon, in quieter circumstances." 

"Yes," Louis agreed, his voice dull as Marius parted from him. Was that the actual reason he was here? Because _Amel_ wanted him to be? 

Louis walked back toward the dance floor and entered the heaving crowd with a wave of dizziness. Dancers turned and spun around him as he walked half-blind between them. He found Lestat at the front of the room below the stage, once again surrounded by a loose ring of admirers hanging on his every word. 

Lestat's face lifted and he smiled when he spotted Louis coming toward him. He looked so carefree and happy and in his element, not at all like a man possessed by a demon. His familiar gray eyes were glowing blue with the reflected illumination of the room's glittering lights. How many years had Louis spent staring at those eyes? Was this the same man staring back at him now? 

What had he said to Louis last year? _I'm the same Lestat you've always known, and no matter how I'm changed, I'm still that same being._ Louis had agreed at the time—it seemed impossible that anything could change Lestat, Lestat who always triumphed and always persisted—but he _had_ changed, hadn't he? The continued existence of this court was proof of that. The man Louis had known would never put up with all the demands and responsibilities of maintaining such a project. Over the long term, it would never have lasted, no matter how much it stroked his ego. 

Lestat—still in mid-conversation—held out his hand as Louis approached. Louis took it and let himself be drawn in to stand beside him. 

"Of course you know my beloved fledgling, Louis," Lestat said, and the other vampires smiled and greeted him warmly. 

Louis stayed at Lestat's side and did his best to look attentive and affect the right responses to the conversation. He nodded his head and laughed in unison with the others, but his mind barely took in the words that were being spoken. It was all empty pleasantries and meaningless compliments. If the others thought Louis seemed aloof and dreamy, well, that was just how Lestat described him, wasn't it? 

Louis wanted to look at Lestat's left hand and see if it was twitching, but he kept his eyes always on his face.


	5. Chapter 5

Shortly after 5am, the orchestra completed its program and the evening finally came to an end. Before Louis could escape, there was a long line of departing guests to thank for their attendance. The ballroom cleared out as most of the visitors left to make the long trip back to Paris or other cities. Only a privileged few were able to spend the day at the chateau.

The dawn was less than an hour away when Louis and Lestat finally bid farewell to the few late sleepers who remained. They went back down the long mirrored hallway that ran through the center of the chateau, their footsteps echoing in the gloom. The chandeliers had been turned off and there were only a few lamps left on for mood lighting. It might have been unsettling, if it wasn't such a blessed relief to be in private without the eyes of a hundred curious strangers watching them. 

Lestat stifled a yawn as he walked. "I think I'll go straight down to the crypts. It's been a long night." 

It sounded like a dismissal, but Louis reached out to touch his arm and said, "Let me come with you."

"Uh, I would," Lestat said, glancing at him and then letting his eyes drift away. "But there are all these precautions about the crypt and with the attack... well, it's safer that I sleep alone. Thorne and Cyril don't need to have anyone else to worry about."

The transparency of the excuse hurt, but Louis had never expected that they would spend the day together. Didn't all royal couples sleep in separate bedrooms? "I won't stay long, I just wanted to talk before you fall asleep." 

"Oh?" Lestat seemed intrigued by his insistence and Louis hoped he wasn't getting the wrong idea. They weren't likely to get much conversation in if he did. "All right then." 

Lestat's crypt was accessed by a private staircase beneath the south tower that was cordoned off from the rest of the underground rooms. A long, lonely passageway wound through the earth beneath the chateau and ended at a heavy steel door. There were two long niches cut into the walls outside like you might find in an ancient catacomb. Presumably, these were where Thorne and Cyril slept. Louis wasn't sure what protection the bodyguards were expected to offer during the day. They'd be as unconscious as all the rest of them if any human (or nonhuman) beings entered the chateau with the intention of doing them harm. 

Inside, Lestat's crypt looked appropriately like the tomb of a king. The walls were painted with scenes of classically-dressed figures feasting and celebrating, while the ceiling had elaborate plasterwork covered in gold leaf. It was lit atmospherically by rows of wall sconces disguised to look like candles with flickering electric lights. Louis assumed the only reason the room didn't contain a chandelier was because the ceiling was too low for one to be practical. 

At the back of the chamber, a huge black coffin was perched on a stone platform carved in the shape of a resting lion. It was the exact same coffin as the one in the crypt that had been designated for Louis, every detail identical from the antique brass hinges to the white silk lining. That made him pause and wonder at the meaning behind the gesture. Lestat might have meant to show that he wanted Louis to have all the best things and, obviously, "tfhe best" meant whatever Lestat wanted for himself. 

The room was bare of any furniture aside from the coffin, so Louis took a seat on an alcove set into the wall while Lestat took off his jacket and readied himself for bed. The alcove had been painted very cleverly with an outdoor scene as if it were a recessed window seat. The false window showed a tropical jungle with mangrove trees and a warm, red-orange glow on the horizon where the sun was either setting or rising. It was a much more appealing landscape than the cold and mountainous region the chateau actually inhabited. 

Louis always found the process of climbing into a coffin rather awkward, but Lestat managed to make it look graceful. He had a way of performing every task as if an audience was watching. It was the reason he was so good at orchestrating the pomp and circumstances of this invented court. It didn't even occur to Lestat to feel awkward about gathering all these vampires together and pretending they were part of a society of law and order. He wanted it to work and reality, like always, bent itself to his will. 

"So," Lestat said once he was settled in with his hands folded over his stomach. "What do you think?" 

Louis glanced around the room. "It's very skillful work. Did Marius do the murals?"

"Yes—no, I mean, not about the room, what do you think about the court?"

"Oh." That same question again. Louis paused to gather his thoughts. He still had his doubts, but he'd come here to be supportive and seeing Lestat in his element tonight had almost convinced him that it could endure. The same cynics who had sneeringly called Lestat "brat prince" a few decades earlier were now tripping over themselves to pay homage to the self-proclaimed monarch. And whatever this new threat was with the nonhumans, it was surely better that vampires were organized and prepared to meet it together. 

Lestat cleared his throat and Louis realized he'd been silent for too long. "You were right," he said, using Lestat's favorite words. "There's much to see and hear, and I think that… I think this has a real possibility of transforming how vampires live their lives." 

"For the better, one hopes," Lestat said and smiled as he shifted and settled more comfortably. "Yes, good. I knew you'd feel that way once you saw it. Everyone does."

"Yes, I'm sure." 

Lestat stifled a yawn. "I think I'm going to fall asleep."

"That's all right, I'll head out when you do." 

"It seems strange to be an early sleeper now," Lestat said. "But I've gotten used to it. It's to protect the young ones, you know, so I'm not exposed to any pre-dawn light." 

"Yes," Louis said. "Wouldn't want us all getting a collective tan." 

Lestat grinned. "Of course not, we'd look like a room full of undead beach bums. It's tacky to be too tanned these days, shows you don't take care of your skin." He sighed in a deeply satisfied way and shut his eyes. 

"Wouldn't want that," Louis said. He should leave Lestat to rest, but the question that had prompted him to come here was still burning in his mind. He had to know. "Lestat?" 

He made a questioning sound in response, but kept his eyes closed. 

Louis hesitated over the best way to phrase his question. He nearly gave up and bid Lestat goodnight, before forcing himself to come out with it. "Marius mentioned that you weren't alone in wanting to seek me out."

"Huh?" Lestat blinked open his eyes and looked at him blearily. 

Louis regretted keeping him awake, but he needed to know. "Is it true that Amel wanted you to come get me?"

"Oh," Lestat lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "Yes, he was something of a nuisance about it." 

The confirmation hurt—so it _wasn't_ Lestat's idea—but better to know exactly what he was dealing with. 

"I thought maybe…" Lestat started to say, then stopped and shook his head. "But he was right, I do need you." He smiled, a dreamy sort of calm expression that Louis rarely saw from Lestat. "He only wants what's best for me... even if sometimes… I wonder…"

Louis waited, hoping he would continue, but Lestat closed his eyes and seemed to be dropping off to sleep. "You wonder?" Louis prompted.

"Oh, nothing…" Lestat said, his eyes still closed. "I think it's part of his hunger for experiencing life. Embodied life and all its emotions. He said he liked looking at you through my eyes." 

Louis' shoulders twitched with an involuntary shudder.

"He spent months hassling me about wanting to see you again, but—" Lestat stopped himself and raised his head. He gave Louis a startled look like he had said more than he meant to. "He gets fixated on ideas sometimes... things he sees in my head. You see, he doesn't have the coherence of personality to hold onto an idea otherwise. It's always echos of my own thoughts and desires. I told him that you would come in your own time, of course. When you were ready." 

"Of course," Louis agreed. "But I'm glad I'm here now." 

This seemed to mollify Lestat and he settled in again and closed his eyes.

Louis stayed in the crypt and watched Lestat sleep, his mind troubled. The thought of the spirit possessing Lestat spending any time at all thinking about him was disquieting, but even more so was the confirmation that Amel could have a demonstrated effect on Lestat's decisions; maybe even on Lestat's own understanding of why he was making them. He hadn't intended to fetch Louis and bring him to the chateau until Amel pestered him into doing it, that much was clear. Lestat would have come to fetch Louis immediately if it was his own impulse, not put it off for six months, but now he had convinced himself that it had been his own idea all along.

If Amel was having a subconscious influence, if Lestat couldn't distinguish Amel's impulses from his own thoughts… it threw the entire project of the court into question. Amel has convinced multiple vampires to seek out and destroy others of their kind less than a year ago. It was possible that Akasha's own burnings and megalomania had been implanted in her by Amel. Supposedly he hadn't been conscious until recently, only coming awake recently inside of Mekare, but wasn't it possible he had a subconscious influence on his previous hosts? What if the spirit wanted all of the world's vampires gathered together in order to make them easier to eliminate? What if Lestat was so unconcerned about the nonhumans only because Amel wanted him to be blasé and unprepared? All of his decisions could be compromised. 

Was this why the council wanted Louis here? To help them tell the difference between Amel's impulses and Lestat's? Louis wasn't sure he _could_ tell. He hadn't suspected that there was any separate force motivating Lestat to ask him to come to the chateau. None of his words when he invited him had seemed out of character. He'd spoken so much of the past, of their shared history, but of course Amel shared those memories now as well. And much of it had been what Louis wanted to hear. The devil came to offer Louis everything he desired and once again he blindly agreed.

The dawn was beginning to pull at Louis' limbs, making him feel heavy and slow. He needed to go to his own crypt.

Lestat looked pale and unearthly in his coffin with his eyes closed, more like the corpse he was than usual. Louis wanted to go and brush the hair back from his face, to lay his hand on his neck and feel the faint heartbeat, to lean down and steal a kiss from those blue lips. 

Instead, he got up to leave. He looked back at the door to see Lestat one more time laid out like a dead king surrounded by opulence. "Sleep well, prince."

\---

Louis nodded to Cyril and Thorne on his way out of Lestat's chamber and found his way back through the labyrinth of underground passages to the "guest" crypts. 

He was at the door of his own assigned underground room when he heard a soft sound behind him like cloth brushing against stone. He paused, unsure if he had actually heard something or if it was only the echo of his own movements. He peered down the dark passage behind him. The wall sconces gave out a weak yellow light that was more atmospheric than useful. 

One of the shadows along the wall shifted and a figure stepped out into view. 

"Armand?" Louis said in surprise. 

Armand came closer, gliding over the stone floor as silent as a wraith. "Good evening." 

"Yes," Louis said and repeated the greeting. Armand came to a stop just before him and stood there as if he had something to say. He was silent for longer than might be considered polite, but Louis was used to his reticence and waited for him to gather his thoughts. Armand very rarely ran into someone "accidentally." If he chose to show himself, there was a reason for it. 

"If you have a moment," Armand said, his words slow and deliberate. "There was something I wanted to speak with you about." 

"Oh?" Louis said, slightly taken aback at the formality of his request. When Armand had wanted to speak to Louis at Trinity Gate, he would usually let himself into his room without knocking. "Of course, do you want to come in?" 

Louis started to turn toward the door to his crypt, but Armand shook his head. "No, I won't keep you. I'm sure you must be busy settling in..." He had a distant look in his eyes, like he was listening to something else at the same time he was talking to Louis. That wasn't unusual for Armand, but the stilted quality of his speech was odd. It wasn't like him to speak around an issue instead of addressing it directly. 

"But there's something you want to discuss?" Louis asked in confusion. 

"Yes, if that's all right I—wouldn't want to make anything awkward for you." 

"No, it's fine—what is it?" Louis asked, trying not to show his impatience. An unkind part of him wondered if Armand had only wanted to see him alone.

Armand hesitated again. He looked very young and uncertain in the soft light of the stone passageway. It was as if he no longer knew how to speak to Louis now that their social positions had changed. Louis wondered if all their interactions would be like this from now on, full of polite distance and deference to his place in Lestat's household.

A wave of sadness passed over Louis as they stood in silence. It was the same bitter feeling of loss he'd experienced seeing Armand in the ballroom. Suddenly he wanted desperately to bring this interview to a close. "Did you want to meet tomorrow or…?" 

"No… it's only a small thing." Armand tilted his head as if he was listening to something and his eyes went distant for a moment before he refocused on Louis. "There was something that happened during the attack, when the nonhuman had Eleni."

"What is it?" Louis said, anxious now instead of impatient. 

Armand paused, again seeming to listen to something Louis couldn't hear, and Louis resisted the urge to sigh at all this subterfuge. Were all of his conversations at the chateau going to involve this halting uncertainty and layers of unspoken meaning?

Armand spoke finally, his voice low. "We had the thing tied up, but it broke free somehow and took Eleni hostage. I intended to destroy it—it was strong compared to an ordinary mortal, but I could tell that its speed and strength were nothing next to my own. It had only succeeded in attacking Eleni because it caught her off guard." 

"Yes, I heard the story earlier," Louis said. 

"What I didn't share was that when I prepared to spring, to strike the killing blow... I couldn't do it." A crease appeared in Armand's smooth forehead. "A paralysis took hold of me."

Louis waited a beat, expecting more, but this seemed to be the revelation Armand had come to share. "The sun was rising, wasn't it?" 

"But it was too early!" Armand said, his voice rising. "I could feel the heaviness of dawn approaching, but I had a half hour or longer before I was incapacitated. Yet I could not move! The creature was able to escape because of it." 

"Strange," Louis said. "Is this some power these nonhumans have? To freeze us in place?"

"No," Armand said. "I know precisely what it means because I was in the thing's head when it was drinking Eleni's blood," his voice dropped down into a harsh whisper, "and I heard it speaking with Amel." 

Louis took a quick inward breath. "What did he say?"

"Amel told the creature to make its escape and promised to prevent me from killing it. I heard Amel's voice saying, 'I will make Armand let you go' and then somehow he was able to do it! I was completely frozen."

"But then—" Louis glanced down the dark passageway behind them, suddenly understanding Armand's paranoia of being overheard. "If that's possible, if Amel can control any one of us like that—" Louis stopped himself, afraid to say it out loud.

"It wasn't exactly controlling me," Armand said. "It was more like he… shut me down, the same way a powerful elder can induce sleep, but…" His lips didn't move, but Louis heard his next words as clearly as he had spoken aloud. _If Amel can do that to me, how much more power must he have over his host?_

Louis wanted to question him further, but the coming dawn cut short any further questions. Armand slipped back into the shadows, leaving Louis to enter his crypt alone. 

The small cell assigned to Louis had plain, unadorned stone walls and vaulted ceilings. Aside from the black coffin, there were only a few pieces of oak furniture—a wardrobe, a small writing desk, and a bookcase. The simplicity was something of a relief compared to the riot of colors and textures in the rest of the chateau. 

When he had first seen the chamber, Louis had been touched that Lestat had departed so far from his own aesthetic sensibilities to design a room more suited to him. Later, as they toured more of the underground rooms, Louis realized that all of the crypts reserved for guests were arranged in the same simple manner, likely so newcomers could easily alter them to their own tastes. 

Now, as he laid down in his new, Lestat-selected coffin, Louis found himself longing for his bedroom in New York. He usually didn't get very attached to places, but the atmosphere here felt cold and false compared to the warmth he associated with Trinity Gate. 

Louis thought his sadness was mostly nostalgia for an earlier time that he could no longer return to, a time from before Trinity Gate became so clogged with international visitors. Toward the end of his residence, Louis hadn't felt like there was much need for him to remain. Benji had grown into a fully independent adult, busy with his new career in broadcasting, and Sybelle had been quite happy with the attention Benji's show had brought to her music. Last year she had started holding small concerts in Trinity Gate's grand salon for "fans," and the transition to performing at court appeared to have been relatively smooth for her. Louis had been slightly worried that the chateau would be too busy and loud for Sybelle, but she seemed to be thriving in the new environment surrounded by other musicians who spoke the same language of notes and scales. 

Armand had been so strangely formal with him. Louis assumed it was in case anyone was listening, to avoid any untoward appearance in their interactions, but he also wondered if Armand was hurt by his decision to come to court with Lestat. There had been nothing formal about the arrangement in New York. Louis appreciated having a place to stay when New Orleans grew intolerable and at the time he sensed a sort of aloof but tender concern from Armand. Louis had gone into the sun only a few years after Armand made his own attempt on his life in a moment of religious fever. Armand knew how slow the path of recovery was and, at the same time, he was struggling to deal with his new fledglings who had been thrust too soon into immortality by Marius. 

Louis' decision to stay in New York was a combination of mutual concern fed by whatever banked flames of love still remained between them and, frankly, convenience. For Louis, Trinity Gate was a welcome respite from the instability of life in New Orleans and, for Armand, Louis was a helpful instructor in how to manage a young family. It wasn't like he was being used, it was mutually beneficial and Louis liked feeling like he had a purpose. But while their needs may have aligned for a time, Louis had always been a guest in Armand's house; more of a lodger than a lover. 

Not, of course, that any of this had been spoken out loud. 

The heaviness of his limbs was a welcome sensation, presaging relief from his anxious thoughts. As he laid down in his coffin, Louis remembered his conversation with Lestat on the roof. Before he slipped down into unconsciousness, he saw Lestat's hand twitching at his side again as he asked, _"Would you know if it wasn't me?"_


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the council remains ineffective and Louis and Lestat go for a walk.

As he slept on his first day at the chateau, Louis dreamed of the night he was made. That, in itself, wasn't unusual; Louis often returned to that night in dreams. Most often, he found himself in the middle of the change, dying bewildered and alone in the woods. He would flounder through the swampland as he tripped over roots and sank deeper into the mud with each step. Sometimes, he would reach the indigo fields and walk up and down the endless rows, each column empty and silent except for the rustle of leaves. Sometimes, if the dream went on long enough, he would reach the plantation house and walk through its burning rooms as he searched them one by one. 

He could never find Lestat in these dreams—which seemed obvious enough, psychologically-speaking. For all his introversion, Louis had never been a particularly complicated man.

Today, though, was different. This time he dreamed of his first taste of blood. They were on the stairs and Lestat offered him his wrist. The unbroken skin was smooth and cool under Louis' lips. He could feel the ridges of the veins on his tongue as they pulsed with blood, yet when he bit down there was nothing: no liquid rush of warmth, no coppery sweet taste, no flicker of light behind his closed eyes. There was no blood, only dust choking him. When he pulled back, Lestat was frozen and still as a statue. The holes Louis had punched through his skin revealed a dark hollow as if he had broken through the fragile outer layer of a rotten log. When Louis shifted his grip, the limb crumbled away to ash in his hands.

Louis snapped awake in an unfamiliar coffin in an unfamiliar room. For a confused moment he thought he was in San Francisco, back in one of the transitory spaces he had passed through while haunting the city like a ghost, but, no, the room he was in was all wrong. It was too quiet, with no hint of mortal habitation nearby. The masonry of the stone walls was much too substantial and well-maintained for the sordid buildings Louis had sheltered in during those lonely nights. 

The memory of the previous evening came back to him in a wave of shimmering, near hallucinatory images. Of course, he was at the chateau. He had come with Lestat yesterday. This was his new home.

Louis rose and went up through the dark warren of tunnels that connected the crypts to the building above. He emerged to find the chateau hushed and peaceful in the last hour of daylight. The sun was still above the horizon and the waning light cast a warm glow through the rooms. The effect was surprisingly pleasing. As he wandered through the silent halls, Louis found himself better able to appreciate the charmed world that Lestat had created. It seemed the chateau looked best in the daytime, or, at least, at the golden hour before twilight.

Sunlight no longer bothered Louis the way it used to. Recently, he'd even made a habit of going out to watch the sunset each night. The brightness still hurt his eyes and made him wish he had one of Lestat's pairs of tinted sunglasses, but the pain was no more than an annoyance to him. Being out during twilight now was a bit like being a mortal at high noon in the tropics. It was uncomfortable and even dangerous to experience at length, but endurable for short periods of time with the appropriate precautions. 

Louis' experience of the sun had been limited for many years due to his natural tendencies (in as much as a vampire's biological processes could be described as "natural"). He had always been a late riser. From his earliest days as a vampire, he very rarely woke early enough to experience twilight—not even while he was sharing a coffin with an impatient child who despised lying in. Claudia was always determined to suck the marrow from every hour of the night. "No rest for the wicked," Lestat would often intone as she pulled Louis out of his coffin at the first flicker of wakefulness. 

Later, when he was living on his own in the twentieth century, Louis often slept in long past his natural waking time. In those lonely years, he had liked to wait until the early hours of the morning before venturing out into the streets. He had rarely felt sociable then and usually his only human contact each night was with a single unfortunate victim. 

Louis' late-rising tendencies had changed after Lestat revived him in the wake of his suicide. Restored by Lestat's potent blood, it had become normal for him to wake when the sun was still visible over the horizon. It had disturbed Louis at first—here was yet another change alienating him from his old self—but there was a great charm in being able to watch the sunset.

Louis went down the mirrored long gallery past the empty salons until he reached the balcony overlooking the ballroom. He was surprised to find that the room felt considerably smaller when it was empty of revelers. The great chandeliers and the braziers were all dark, but the waning daylight lit tongues of fire in every glittering piece of crystal or gilded ornamentation. 

Louis continued wandering through the empty halls. The stillness made the chateau feel like a fairytale palace that had fallen under a spell. He supposed that the illusion was true in a way. After all, the bewitched inhabitants really did fall into an enchanted sleep during the day. They even had their own Prince Charming who would come up from the crypts in another hour or so after the last rays of the sun had faded. 

It was a pleasing idea, one that the court was calculated to elicit. Living here, instead of being lonely monsters, might they become more like an enchanted kingdom of fae? It was not an altogether inappropriate metaphor. Fairies were also dangerous and deceitful creatures according to legend. And humans were prone to falling under their glamorous and deceptive spell… although, at the moment, Louis was more concerned they were duping _themselves_ with this pantomime of an enchanted kingdom. 

Wanting to continue his habit of watching the sunset, Louis located the stairs of the east tower and began climbing up to the top. He hadn't been in this part of the chateau yet. This tower mainly contained rooms for lower profile but still-significant guests, each floor consisting of its own suite. The rooms were empty now, of course, as everyone had taken shelter for the day in the crypts below. 

Louis continued up the winding staircase until he reached a heavy, metal door which marked the entrance to the tower roof. The sky was still a magnificent rich blue as he emerged to watch the last moments of sunset. 

The changing light and the blending reds and golds were so vivid to him now. There was something magical in watching the moment when the red disk of the sun slipped down the horizon and vanished: the realization that what the astronomers said was true, they really were a tiny speck on a ball of rock spinning through an infinite universe. There was a particular rooftop in New Orleans where Louis had begun to go nightly to watch the waning light. There was a great mystery in the gradual change of the colors, the way they followed a pattern passing from pink to orange to red, and yet each sunset was unique. Coming to the same point every night, he could track the journey of the sun along the horizon, sweeping back and forth with the seasons like the pendulum of a great clock in its slow but ceaseless movement. He felt more connected to the world when he took notice of these things; seeing the changes as the years passed instead of continuing through the endless nights like a man walking through a series of identical rooms without end. 

The last of the color was draining from the sky when several figures landed on the roof of the north tower. Scanning the windows below, Louis saw that the council room was lit up and the silhouette of several other members was already visible inside. Louis sighed to himself; he should probably go over and see what was happening. Lestat would be coming up out of the crypt soon now that the sun had set and all of the elders were surely awake and already dealing with the night's business. 

Instead of flying across the courtyard, Louis took the long way down the stairs and continued his explorations. The chateau was beginning to stir and Louis could hear footsteps and distant voices as guests awoke for the night. On the way to the north tower, he passed a two-story library that looked very inviting, but forced himself to continue onward. Surely there would be time to come back and look through it later. He was rather curious how Lestat had stocked the bookshelves. When he wasn't making an effort to impress, Lestat tended to buy books by the linear foot for decorative purposes. 

Almost as soon as he entered the twisting stairs of the north tower, Louis could hear a heated discussion going on above him. He wondered if the council was normally this argumentative or if it was only a result of having a crisis to manage. 

"I'm sorry, but that is simply shortsighted," Louis heard Fareed saying in a tone of deep annoyance. "Just because _you_ have never seen any beings like this in your five thousand years of existence doesn't mean they can't exist!"

"I'm not speaking from only my own experience," Gregory said response. "I'm speaking based on the entire collective experience of our kind."

There was a choked off noise like Fareed was smothering a curse. "But surely you realize how limited our understanding of the world has been until very recently? No one had ever seen a _microbe_ for most of your life, Gregory, but that doesn't mean germs didn't exist!" 

"We're not talking about microscopic lifeforms," Gregory said, stubbornly calm in response to Fareed's frustration. "We're talking about other creatures like ourselves. Biological living beings that seem human but are not."

Louis slowed his pace as he neared the floor with the council chamber. He wasn't sure if he wanted to enter in the midst of this argument, but by now everyone would have heard him coming up the stairs and it would be obvious if he stopped or turned back. 

"Don't be obstinate," Marius said, cutting in between Fareed and Gregory. He was using the deliberately reasonable tone of voice he used when he felt someone was being childish. "There have always been stories of other immortals that were not blood drinkers like ourselves. What about Ramses the Damned? Maybe he was one of these creatures, whatever they are." 

Gregory laughed derisively. "Don't lecture me, Roman. You weren't even born when such folktales were invented."

Marius let out a humorless laugh as Louis arrived on the landing. "Maybe not, but I saw him with my own eyes, remember?" 

"You saw something you didn't understand," Gregory said. "And you assumed a fanciful explanation based on no real evidence—"

"He was inhuman and he could walk during daylight!" Marius snapped, losing his air of patience. "Just like these creatures!" 

Louis was at the door and could delay no longer. He took a breath and opened it. Inside he found the elders arranged tensely around the long conference table. Lestat was there already, watching the argument with his head resting on one hand. He gave Louis a slight smile as he came in. Several other heads turned toward Louis with hopeful expressions like they thought he might interrupt the argument, but neither Gregory, Marius, nor Fareed glanced toward him. The three of them were grouped at the end of the room. Gregory was leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed with Marius and Fareed to either side of him. Fareed was standing with his hands braced on the table like he'd risen up from his seat in his anger. 

"Did _you_ see this 'Ramses' walking during the day?" Gregory asked as Louis closed the door behind him. "Of course not! He fled from you and you assumed that he was a creature of legend, but you saw nothing that couldn't be explained as simply another vampire who was uninterested in sharing your distinguished company." Marius started to open his mouth in response, but Gregory let out a forced, grating laugh before he could say anything. "Ramses the Damned _,_ for god's sake! You might as well bring up King Arthur! If such a being existed, don't you think that someone who was actually _there_ and lived in Kemet would have seen—"

Marius raised a hand, motioning for Gregory to calm himself. "Perhaps it wasn't the actual Ramses I saw," he conceded. "But that doesn't mean other immortals can't exist."

"The point, Gregory," Fareed said. "Is that you're not omniscient. None of us are, no matter how much you might believe yourself to be a god!" 

"Seth," Gregory said, his tone obnoxiously reasonable as he turned toward the elder vampire on the other end of the table and deliberately ignored Fareed. "Have _you_ ever met ‘Ramses the Damned'?" 

Seth lifted one shoulder in a very slight shrug as if he was reluctant to come to Gregory's aid. 

Fareed pounded his fist on the table. "This is pure myopic egotism!" 

Gregory shook his head and started to make a response while Fareed shouted at him. Louis was only half listening as he took a seat beside Gabrielle at the other end of the room. 

Gabrielle gave him a sardonic look and sighed. " _Imbéciles_ ," she said in an undertone. While the three debaters continued arguing, she said to him in French, "You haven't missed much, they've been going on like this for nearly half an hour." 

"Did something happen?" Louis asked. 

"There was another attack, in California," Gabrielle said. "Some fool tried to capture the creature that escaped New York and got himself killed. It beheaded him and ate his brains. Very gruesome. And then, even more exciting, another one of the creatures has emerged and left us a _voicemail._ " She used the English word, her voice dripping with disdain. "I'm surprised you didn't hear it already, it's all they're talking about on Benji's radio show." 

"What?" Louis patted his pockets, searching for his phone before he realized he had left it down in the crypt. Stupid, he should have checked the feed as soon as he woke up. 

"They've been playing it over and over again. Here—" Gabrielle raised her voice and called across the table. " _Rejouez!_ " 

"English, Mother!" Lestat chided, his attention still focused on the argument, which from the sounds of it was growing increasingly philosophical. Fareed seemed to be trying to explain the impossibility of trying to prove a negative to an uninterested Gregory. Lestat pulled his phone from his pocket, hit a button on it, and slid it across the table toward them. 

Benji's voice came out of the phone in a tone of breathless excitement. "—on our own call-in line, received yesterday while we slept in the western hemisphere. I will play it again now." 

An unfamiliar voice came next. The sound was flattened by the tiny phone speaker and the words were nearly drowned out by the rushing of wind in the background, but the voice clearly carried a resonance that was not fully human. "Derek is alive," the voice said in a gentle tenor. "I repeat, Derek is alive and he wants Kapetria and Welf and Garekyn to know that he is alive. And Derek is not alone. Blood drinkers have cruelly held Derek prisoner. A blood drinker of Budapest named Roland has done this for ten years and deserves our vengeance. And Rhoshamandes, his confederate, has visited unspeakable cruelty on Derek. We have never meant any harm to human beings or to you."

Louis thought he heard a seabird cry in the background beneath the roar of the wind before the recording cut off abruptly and the sound shifted to the quiet hush of the recording studio. "There was more," Benji said. "Spoken in a language we have as yet been unable to translate or even identify. I will not replay it now for risk of assisting these creatures in their assault on—" 

Gabrielle paused the recording with a single tap on the phone's screen. 

"Derek?" Louis said. 

"Yes, it's a new one," Gabrielle said. "Kapetria, Welf, Garekyn, Derek… what an odd collection of names these creatures have." 

"But Rhoshamandes is involved somehow?" 

Gabrielle shrugged. "That's what it said." She made a dismissive gesture toward the other end of the table where Gregory, Fareed, and Marius were still arguing. "Before they got sidetracked, the council was trying to convince Lestat to finally do something about Rhosh."

"Hm…" Lestat had been oddly reluctant to take any actions against Rhoshamandes last year following his botched kidnapping of Viktor. Lestat seemed convinced that Rhosh would come around and join the court with love in his heart one day. Louis found it rather unlikely himself and he wasn't sure Rhosh deserved such open-armed forgiveness. 

Those who had known him in ancient days insisted that Rhoshamandes was an honorable man of great depth of feeling and compassion, but he seemed like a petty and rather sad figure to Louis. Once he had been the head of a great medieval court with nearly all of Western Europe under his domain, but he had retreated into hiding after his fledglings were stolen away one-by-one by the satanic teachings of the Children of Darkness. Since then, Rhosh had spent centuries in solitude on an island in the North Sea with only the childish Benedict for company. 

It had been rather pathetic how easily Amel had manipulated Rhosh into murdering Maharet as part of his unsuccessful bid to take the sacred core into himself. And now it wasn't like Rhosh posed much of a threat, cut off as he was from most of his fledglings and without any real allies. 

"Who is this Roland?" Louis asked. 

"No one significant," Gabrielle said. "Some malcontent who doesn't approve of the court. Lestat, for some reason, thinks that the whole message might be some kind of ploy to slander Rhosh, but I don't see what these creatures would have to gain by that." 

"To sow dissent among us, I suppose?" Louis said. 

"Maybe, not that we need help with that." Gabrielle glanced across the table and rolled her eyes. "Allesandra has also gone missing and might have been involved in holding this 'Derek' prisoner, but I find it hard to believe she would get mixed up in something so foolish."

"She does seem... very sensible," Louis admitted, leaving unspoken that even sensible people sometimes became involved in foolish schemes to please someone they loved. 

"I know Allesandra," Gabrielle said firmly. "I very much doubt she would approve of keeping this creature captive, whatever its true nature. Nor keeping it a secret." 

Louis nodded, although he couldn't help thinking that Allesandra had once been part of Armand's coven, and she hadn't shown any qualms about kidnapping then. 

"She was under the cult's thrall and half out of her mind," Gabrielle said, responding to his thoughts. "She would never do such a thing now or risk destroying her friendship with the court." 

"Yes, of course," Louis said, hurrying to agree. He really needed to get better at hiding his thoughts. 

"You do," Gabrielle said, and Louis winced. To hide his embarrassment, he looked back toward Gregory and the others to see how the argument was fairing. 

"You know what I think?" Fareed was saying. "I think you're so convinced that these nonhumans can't be anything new because you're ashamed." 

"How does that follow?" Gregory asked, raising his eyebrows and affecting an expression of curious disinterest. 

"The woman—Kapetria or Karen Rhinehart or whatever her name is—she was working for Collingworth Pharmaceutical for over a decade. For ten years she was right under your nose and you never noticed a thing. More than that, she was doing _illegal experimentation_ on human cloning in your own lab and you missed it. Even if she were entirely human, she made a fool of you!" 

Gregory looked up toward the ceiling and sighed laconically. "If you like." 

"We could have known about these creatures _years_ ago if you kept a better eye on your business," Fareed continued. He was on a tear now, ranting like this had been building up inside of him for some time. "I would never allow researchers under my watch to perform experiments I hadn't personally approved."

"Your institution is considerably smaller than my company," Gregory said. "And, need I add, it has greatly benefited from _my_ monetary support." 

"Gregory, Fareed," Sevraine said, interrupting loudly. "Stop. This isn't helpful. It doesn't matter what might have happened in the past, we have to deal with the situation now." 

"How are we supposed to deal with the situation if some of us can't accept the reality of it?" Fareed protested. 

Before Sevraine could respond, Lestat stood up, drawing everyone's attention to himself. "Enough, let's take a break."

"Gladly," Gabrielle muttered. 

There were some sighs and grumbles, but nearly everyone around the table got up, eager to escape. Marius waved his hand in assent and the room quickly emptied out. Fareed, noticeably, went out the balcony to avoid having to go down the stairs with Gregory. 

Louis waited until the others had departed before approaching Lestat, who was taking his time getting to his feet with a leisurely stretch. 

"Shall we?" Lestat asked and offered Louis his arm. Louis took it and they went down the stairs to the public area of the chateau. More of the guests were awake now and the sound of conversation and laughter came from the salons. Someone was playing a harp in accompaniment to a trio of soprano voices.

Louis expected Lestat to want to go in and socialize, but instead he led Louis down to the entrance hall and outside to explore the estate. It was fully dark by now, but it was a clear night and the quarter moon gave off plenty of light. They left the protective walls of the courtyard and passed under a suspiciously modern-looking gatehouse on their way out into the wilds surrounding the chateau. The sounds of distant conversation and music faded as the quiet stillness of winter took its place. A light dusting of snow had painted the landscape in beautiful soft waves of white. Louis' feet crunched as he walked, but Lestat was barely touching the ground. 

They followed an old game path that wound its way into the woods and climbed up the mountainside. The trees grew larger and older the further they went. It was an old pine forest full of great, hoary trunks that had survived centuries without the threat of a woodsman's axe. Even at night, in the dead of winter, there were signs of life among the trees. Once Louis heard an owl call and there were deer tracks in the snow running along the narrow path. 

They might have seen more wildlife, but Lestat filled the silence with talk as was his wont. He was full of stories of adventure from his boyhood hunting in these woods. Louis listened attentively, although he felt a pang of sadness that even though Lestat was now willing to talk about his past, he still only ever shared shallow anecdotes from his youth. Louis wondered if his boyhood memories weighed on him living here. Perhaps his circumstances and the appearance of the place were so changed that there were no negative reminders left, but Louis rather doubted it. 

They continued down the old game trail for a time before veering off the established path onto rocky land that even an accomplished hunter would have difficulty traversing. It was easy enough for a vampire, especially after Lestat grew impatient and looped an arm around Louis' waist and lifted them both up into the air. They floated upward and drifted in the sky for a time before Lestat took them down to land on the bare pinnacle of the mountain. 

From the peak, they could see the vast expanse of the surrounding countryside. It was a beautiful, if barren landscape of crumbling mountains and forested valleys. There were a few lights in the distance from neighboring villages, but otherwise there was no sign of human habitation except for the cold outline of the chateau against the cliffs below.

Louis took a deep breath of the freezing air, feeling the cold creep into his limbs. His lungs would be aching if he were still human. "It's beautiful here." 

Lestat made a noise of agreement, but he didn't seem to be listening. He was staring down with a pensive look. He let out a little shiver and shook his head as if there was something distasteful about the view. 

"Did you miss it?" Louis asked. "Your home?" 

Lestat was silent for long enough that he thought he hadn't heard. Or didn't want to answer. "I used to climb up to a lookout somewhere—there," Lestat said, pointing to the cliffs below. "Do you see the outcropping there?" Louis nodded although he wasn't entirely sure what he was meant to see. "I put a bench there, but you can't see it with the snow. There used to be a sheep herding trail along the ridge, but most of it was wiped out by a landslide. In the spring, we would hear the shepherds singing and the sheep bells ringing as they moved to higher pastures. When I was a boy, I would come up to that point once the snow cleared and the path was open and I would look down and think about how it was all… so small."

Lestat paused, his eyes directed at the dark outline of the chateau. Louis wanted to touch him but he was afraid of interrupting his memories. 

"Like a model," Lestat said. "Or a child's toy. Something that would be easy to break. And in a few strides I could be over the mountain and away from here forever. Like _Le Petit Poucet_ with the seven-league boots."

Louis waited in case more revelations followed, but Lestat was silent. After a beat, he raised his head and smiled at Louis. "It took some years, but I did manage to leave eventually." 

"Yes."

 _And then you came back_ , Louis thought, but didn't voice. _And trapped us all here with you._

Lestat seemed to be in a good mood now. He thrust his hands into his pockets and smiled to himself as he looked at the landscape. He was once more the satisfied seigneur admiring his domain rather than the suffering boy longing for escape. 

It occured to Louis that standing on the mountain might be their best opportunity for a private conversation. Cyril and Thorne were likely keeping an eye on them from a distance, but they were far enough away from the chateau not to risk being overheard physically or psychically. Assuming, that is, that they were the only two here.

"Lestat, is Amel with you?" Louis asked. 

"Hm? No," Lestat said. "Why, did you want to ask him something? I can try to call for him, but he doesn't always come back."

"No, no, it was just an idle thought," Louis said. "I was wondering if he had any intelligence about Rhoshamandes." 

Lestat laughed. "No, Amel hates him now and refuses to visit him. He soured on Rhosh after he embarrassed himself last year and hasn't been back to talk to him since." 

_You mean as far as you know he hasn't_ , Louis thought. "What are you planning to do about him?"

"About Rhosh?" Lestat said. "Nothing, why?"

"Nothing?" Louis repeated, unable to keep his shock out of his voice. "But he imprisoned this—thing. On top of everything else he did last year—killing Maharet, kidnapping Viktor! And now, for all we know, he caused these creatures to attack us. Maybe they see us as an enemy because of his actions." 

Lestat looked doubtful. "We don't know enough to say that." 

"Maybe not," Louis said. "But you could still demand he come to court and explain himself." 

Lestat scoffed. "No, forcing the issue won't help. He's too proud. We'll have to wait for Rhosh to come around himself." 

Louis shook his head. He didn't understand why Lestat longed for Rhosh's change of heart, except perhaps that the court could only succeed if he maintained the approval of as many elders as possible. His rule was based on a popularity contest and he needed to ensure he kept winning it. "I worry you're not taking the threat he poses seriously enough." 

"Rhosh?" Lestat said in surprise. "He isn't a threat, he's a coward. He couldn't even muster up the courage to face down _Armand_ when he stole all his fledglings away in the Middle Ages."

"It's dangerous to dismiss him so lightly," Louis said. "Some might argue his caution makes him a better candidate to contain the sacred core." Lestat snorted like this was an absurd suggestion, but Louis pressed on. "Alone he may not be a threat, but what if he gathered allies? He's already begun visiting people like Roland who have refused to come to court. He might be seen as a safer choice than a young, reckless vessel who insists on making himself a spectacle and risking his person by entertaining the entire world—"

Lestat cut Louis off with a raised hand. "I get your meaning, thank you. But it's nothing to be concerned about. The council would never go for him. They want a host they can control—no, what they really want is another statue they can lock away and safely ignore, but they're not going to get that, so they'll have to be satisfied with me."

"You're not concerned about them… hedging their bets?" Louis asked and Lestat shook his head. "I'm not saying I think this," Louis pressed on in frustration. "But Rhoshamandes has a much better claim to the 'throne' as one of Akasha's generals." 

"Don't be ridiculous, none of us has a legitimate claim," Lestat laughed. "We're all usurpers. Except maybe Seth, as her son, but he's too smart to want it. Everyone is too smart for it except for me and Rhosh. But Rhosh is too much of a coward to make the attempt again. You should have heard the pathetic stories Benedict told when he was here sniveling and begging for mercy. What a sad pair of conspirators they were. Rhosh couldn't even strike the killing blow to crush Maharet's skull. _Benedict_ was the one who had to do it."

Louis blanched. "Did he? I'd forgotten that."

"You'd remember if you'd read my latest book," Lestat said with a jaundiced look. 

"I did," Louis said quickly. "I just—I skipped some of the more graphic passages."

Lestat made a skeptical noise. "In any event, when the time to act came, Rhosh couldn't bring himself to take the final step and rip Amel from Mekare's willing body. He had to drag Viktor into it with his stupid kidnapping plot. What a fool, trying to steal the throne through a bloodless coup when all he had to do was summon the courage to grasp it with his bare hands." Lestat made a gruesome motion to illustrate his meaning and Louis grimaced. "I hope he does attempt to overthrow me. Let him try, I'll cut off something worse than his arm this time."

Louis gave Lestat a look and sighed at his crude insinuation. Lestat smiled broadly in response, the sharp points of his teeth visible above his lips. "We should be getting back," he said. "Marius was trying to signal to me earlier, but I ignored him."

He started walking down the steep edge of the mountain and Louis hurried after him.

"How much earlier?" Louis asked. 

Lestat shrugged. "I don't know, twenty or thirty minutes? I didn't look at my watch." 

"Wait." Louis couldn't lose this opportunity, who knew when they'd be out here again in relative private. He stopped Lestat with a hand on his arm. "Wait, Lestat, before we go back. May I ask you something?" 

"Of course, anything," Lestat said. He turned and threw out the promise out with a casual wave of his hand. 

Louis paused, making sure Lestat was taking him seriously before saying, "Don't start introducing me as your 'blood spouse.'"

Lestat looked startled for a moment and then threw back his head and laughed in the unrestrained way he did when Louis managed to surprise him with a joke. 

"I don't even understand what it's supposed to mean," Louis said, giving vent to his irritation. "Is a blood wife closer than a regular wife?" Lestat was still laughing and Louis had to fight to keep his expression serious and stop the smile that threatened at the edges of his lips. "At first I thought it meant a partner who was also a fledgling, but then some people throw it around for any attractive person they've met in the last decade. Why does there need to be a special term for one's vampire mate? Is it just a way to brag about the fact that they've shared fluids?"

"Lord, don't say any of this to the elders," Lestat said. He searched his pockets until he found a handkerchief and pulled it out to wipe his eyes. "They'll think you're being blasphemous, not appreciating the sacred bond of blood." 

"I just think it's silly," Louis said unapologetically. 

"It is silly, you're right," Lestat said. He put his handkerchief away and folded his hands over his heart. "My darling, my blood husband."

"Ugh." Louis turned away and started back down the mountain as Lestat laughed behind him. 


	7. Chapter 7

They returned to the council chamber to find Allesandra back from her visit to Rhoshamandes' castle on the North Sea. She was still disheveled from travel with her cloak askew and her silver-gray hair escaping from her braid. She had personally seen the nonhuman called Derek before it escaped and had argued with Rhosh against torturing the thing for information, but Rhosh had, in her words, "taken leave of all restraint and compassion." 

"I'm afraid he has not given up this idea of taking the core into himself," Allesandra said. She turned and looked at Lestat with weary, red eyes. "He told me that he would destroy you one day and take Amel out of you."

"Of course he did." Lestat laughed and shook his head like he was hearing an amusing anecdote about a mutual friend. 

Marius sighed. "Well, at least if this 'Derek' has escaped from him, he doesn't have any leverage at the moment." 

"But he hasn't given up," Allesandra said. "He's searching for more of these creatures. When I left, he wanted to go to London to look at the building where the one called Garekyn lived." 

"We can search for them too," Sevraine said. "And perhaps we can use that to our advantage, if we promise to protect them from Rhosh…" 

"Benji could put a message on the broadcast for them," Marius suggested. "Promising safe harbor."

There was general agreement that this was a good idea and the council managed to make a simple plan of action without a repeat of their early strife. It helped that Gregory was now sitting at the opposite side of the room from Fareed and the two of them were pointedly ignoring one another. 

When Louis and Lestat left the tower, they found the public areas of the chateau crowded with visitors. There were no official events planned for tonight, but hundreds of vampires had come up for the evening anyway to catch the latest news and swap rumors about the nonhumans. No one would admit it openly, but surely some were also seeking the comfort of safety in numbers while rogue creatures were abroad murdering vampires and eating their brains. 

Heads turned as Louis and Lestat walked through the crowded salons. Lestat seemed delighted in the little shows of deference from his subjects as he moved among them—nods and bowed heads and murmured greetings.

They were working their way around one of the salons when a pair of familiar voices called out from the back of the room. 

"Uncle Lestat!" 

"Father!" 

The crowd parted to make room and Louis nearly did a double-take. For a moment he thought he was looking into a mirror until the blond, Lestat-lookalike and the dark-haired figure next to him resolved into Viktor and Rose—Lestat's lab-created son and his adopted daughter back from their travels around the world. 

"I'm sorry we couldn't come sooner," Rose said as she hugged Lestat. Somehow becoming a vampire had made her seem even more frail and elfin than before. Her petite figure and pale complexion made her look like a porcelain doll.

Louis braced himself as Rose came to hug him as well. It was always an adjustment to get used to the way young people today greeted one another. Rose and Viktor both embraced as others might offer a handshake. At Trinity Gate last year, it had amused Louis to see them throwing their arms around ancient vampires who were used to being held (quite literally) at arm's length. 

"We were in San Francisco when we heard the news!" Rose said. "How awful! Poor, Eleni, and the other fellow who died."

"Yes, very unfortunate," Lestat said. He patted Viktor on his shoulder. "I'm sorry you had to cut short your trip." 

Viktor shook his head. "We had to come back, and anyway we have all the time in the world to travel now." 

It was always startling to see Lestat and Viktor next to one another, but after the initial shock it was easy enough to tell them apart. Viktor was several inches taller than Lestat, the result of better food and modern medicine, presumably. Unlike his father, Viktor tended to dress simply without any concern for current (or past) fashion. Today he was in a navy polo shirt and a pair of khaki pants. In the opulence of the chateau, standing next to Lestat in all his court finery, he looked like an IT technician who had gotten lost on a tour of Versailles. 

"Have you seen the city?" Rose asked, her delicate face creased with worry. 

"City?" Louis said. 

"With all those glass towers," Viktor explained. "Like out of a scifi movie." 

"Yes," Lestat said and sighed. "Most everyone's seen it now…"

Louis looked at him in surprise. He hadn't had any unusual visions lately.

"Every time I fall asleep," Rose said and Viktor agreed. 

Glancing around the room, Louis saw other heads nodding.

"Is it…" Rose mouthed the word _Amel_ , as if not saying it aloud that would prevent everyone in the room from knowing what she had asked. 

Lestat shook his head and waved a hand. "We should move on," he said, motioning to Louis. "But we can talk more later."

They parted from Rose and Viktor and continued walking among the crowd and greeting visitors. There was a general sense of unease throughout the chateau, but Lestat's sunny optimism seemed to have a calming effect. "The council has everything under control" he said many times along with "whatever these things are, we'll face them together." 

After about an hour, the orchestra convened in the ballroom to help distract everyone with music and dancing. Lestat took the opportunity to draw Louis away from the crowd and out into an empty back passageway. Louis thought at first that another council meeting had been called, but instead of returning to the council chamber, Lestat steered him to the south corner of the chateau and his rooms at the top of the tower. 

As soon as they were in private, Lestat clapped his hands together and said brightly, "Let's go out!" 

"...to help with the search?" Louis asked.

"What?" Lestat gave him a puzzled look. "No, not to look for the nonhumans, just to get out of here. When was the last time you've been to Paris?" 

"I don't know, years," Louis said with a shrug. 

"Paris then, let's go to Paris!" Lestat enthused. 

Louis hesitated. Usually such eagerness to go somewhere from Lestat meant _let's go hunting,_ but perhaps he just wanted to get away from his responsibilities for a while. "Is that a good idea with Rhoshamandes raging about somewhere ranting about killing you?"

Lestat rolled his eyes. "That's why I have Throne and Cyril to watch my back. Besides, we'd have heard if Rhosh was in Paris, someone would have seen him lurking around and reported it."

Louis looked at him, considering. It was always easier to let Lestat have his way when he had an impulse like this, but Louis had lingering questions from the conversation in the salon. "Were you going to tell me about these visions?"

Lestat sighed like he couldn't believe Louis was being such a wet blanket. To further express his frustration, he threw himself down on a fainting couch and stretched out with one hand dangling down toward the floor. "It's nothing, it's just… some weird nightmare Amel keeps having." He ran his hand through his hair and slumped down further on his back. "I've seen it a few times. This city of glass towers. But it's not glass, it's not a modern city, it's like something… I don't know, alien. And then it's on fire and everything is melting and people are screaming and—it all burns." 

Louis sat in a chair opposite and folded his hands in his lap. "That sounds awful."

"It is," Lestat said, looking away. "And I've asked, but he doesn't know what it means, but clearly it's upsetting him and it's started leaching into other people's dreams too." 

"It's like Mekare sending us visions of her history." 

"Yes, maybe." Lestat sighed. "I don't know what it means… that Amel lived once? That he was a living being with a body and saw this city burn?"

"Maybe that's when he died," Louis said. "It sounds very traumatic."

"Maybe, I don't don't…" Lestat sighed again. "His memories are all a jumbled mess." 

"Is he here now?"

"No," Lestat said and rubbed the back of his neck. "He probably went off to find something more entertaining to watch."

"Hm…" Louis waited, but Lestat seemed reluctant to talk further. "Well, I supposed before we go anywhere, we should let the elders know…"

Lestat sat up, snapping out of his unease and back to his earlier excitement at once. "Of course, of course," he said, rubbing his hands together. "I already mentioned it to Marius. So, Paris?" 

"Okay," Louis said cautiously. He couldn't blame Lestat for wanting to escape from the claustrophobic confines of the chateau for a few hours. Louis wouldn't mind getting away for a while as well… for several reasons. His mouth felt parched and sticky at the thought. 

Lestat went straight to his closet, because of course he couldn't go anywhere without an outfit change. He exchanged his brocade formalwear for the affected informality of modern youth: a pair of tight jeans that had more holes in them than actual denim and a black t-shirt with a mesh panel across the chest to display his muscles. 

"What do you think?" Lestat asked, looking at himself in front of the three full length mirrors that lined the back wall of his dressing room. 

Louis touched his hand to his chin and looked him over thoughtfully. "It brings to mind something someone said to me once, let me see if I remember: 'What self-respecting vampire goes out with clothing full of holes?'"

Lestat made a face and turned to check that his appearance was as pleasing from the rear as from the front. "Going out in old clothes that are falling apart is sad, going out in thousand dollar pre-distressed denim is a statement."

"Mmm," Louis agreed. "It says 'I'm desperate to buy authenticity.'"

"Authenticity is overrated," Lestat countered with his hands on his hips. "I'd much rather have theatricality. And money." 

"You've succeeded, shall we go?" 

Lestat examined Louis' own outfit—a loose silk shirt and modern trousers—and sighed. "I supposed that will do. At least put on the wool trench coat I got you. The tartan." 

Louis pretended to be irritated even though he rather liked the coat in question. It had a rich forest green and navy pattern on it and was suitably warm for the Auvergne winters. Still, it was best not to let Lestat get his way too easily. He always pushed for more if he didn't feel like he'd earned Louis' acquiescence. 

They proceeded to the roof once they were both properly attired and Louis paused to look out over the landscape. Fresh snow was falling and the surrounding mountains were outlined in crisp lines of white. Two figures were already floating in the sky above them, outlined in black against the gray clouds—Cyril and Thorne waiting to follow them to Paris. 

"Well, are you ready?" Lestat asked, holding his hand out impatiently.

Louis shook himself out of his reverie and took it, letting Lestat pull him in tight against his side as he lifted them up into the air together. The snow-topped mountains fell away below them and soon the ground was hidden by a thick layer of rolling white clouds. 

Lestat had somehow developed the impression that Louis hated to fly and needed to be carried if they were going any great distance. This was fine with Louis. Although he really didn't mind moving under his own power, there was nothing so peaceful as being carried above the clouds. The stars never looked as bright on earth as they did in the upper atmosphere. High up, the only noise was the distant hum of airplanes and the occasional flapping of birds' wings. 

Being carried like this could be a scary feeling, almost like being in free fall, but Louis had done it enough times by now that he was comfortable with the sensation. Lestat had improved his flying technique quite a bit from their first impromptu transatlantic trip together. He used his mental powers more than his strength to keep Louis beside him and there was only a light pressure from his arm around his back. The wind didn't touch them, although the cold soon seeped into their limbs. It was a bit like traveling inside of a bubble, like the good witch in the Wizard of Oz, gliding along weightless over the clouds. 

Louis had always thought it was strange that so many vampires disliked flying. It was the most magical thing they were capable of; didn't humans all long to fly? Yes, it was unnatural and eerie, but it was also very beautiful. 

As they traveled, Louis watched the billowy shapes of the clouds below and fell into the peaceful hypnotic state. He no longer felt any apprehension about where they were going or what would happen when they got there. It was out of his hands.

The clouds cleared as they drew closer to Paris, revealing the bright pattern of the streets below lined in yellow lights. Lestat seemed to have a specific destination in mind and he slowed down as if he was searching mentally for someone. His eyes were taking on the predatory gleam Louis recognized from many nights when he went out to stalk the streets of New Orleans. Louis purposely kept his eyes unfocused and didn't pay attention to which part of the city they were flying over. Hunting together still bothered him, but he took comfort in the fact that at least this way he had some control over _when_ it happened, unlike in the past when Lestat used to spy on him. It still felt disrespectful to make a spectacle of his victims and kill with an audience, but he tried to make it short and merciful. If it was done right, the victim never fully realized what was happening and experienced only a moment of mild surprise before the end. 

Louis' newly accommodating approach to hunting wasn't entirely selfless on his part. Going with Lestat saved him from having to make the decision on his own. In theory, under the new rules of the court, they were all supposed to be hunting the evildoer now. What that meant varied widely, and some were more scrupulous about feeding than others. The definition of "evildoer" became noticeably looser the hungrier one was. Gabrielle, with her maverick reputation, might be able to get away with flouting the new order, but Louis felt like he needed to at least try to conform. He didn’t want to feel like he was setting a bad example, or getting away with something because of his closeness to Lestat. 

Still, Louis struggled with the very premise. Digging around in humans’ heads looking for someone who "deserved" to die made him feel grimy. The hypocrisy of a vampire judging human beings, as if Louis had any moral high ground when his existence was fueled by murder… 

But he also felt foolish for having qualms about it. Of course killing made him feel unclean, it _should_ feel that way. He was no different than any other vampire who made twisted excuses for his continued existence. He has known since the beginning that it was wrong, that there was no justification, and yet still he continued. And he hasn’t seriously considered suicide in years. He wanted to live, and so others would have to die. 

Lestat swooped downward as he located whatever he was searching for and landed in a back alley that smelled of rotting food. The sounds of conversation and music carried from the main avenue which affronted the alley, no doubt full of trendy restaurants and cafes. Louis would have liked to go for a walk, but Lestat instructed him to remain in the darkest part of the alley and wait for him there. He took off again without waiting for Louis' reply. 

He didn't _have_ to wait for Lestat to return. If his conscience was truly troubled, he could always disappear and go spend the night in less-murderous pursuits. But Louis didn't seriously entertain the thought.

The truth of it was, Louis was hungry. A gnawing thirst has been pulling at him ever since he had woken up that morning. His dreams had left him unsatisfied and thirsting. This wasn't the mindless need for sustenance that he was used to ignoring until it built to a fever pitch. This hunger was a more personal and targeted sensation. He hasn't felt this way since those early years, before Pointe du Lac burned, when he could get lost in his senses for hours at a time and every new pang of hunger burned with a pain so sharp it was like muscle being flensed from bone. In those days, Louis would get lost staring at the shifting colors on the inside of Lestat's wrist as the blood pumped just below the surface. He would stare and dream and find himself obsessively replaying the moment he had first drunk of that sweet, poisoned nectar. 

The steel door at the back of one of the buildings banged open with a screech that would have startled him if Louis was any less of a predator. As it was, the sound of a person stumbling out into the night only heightened his senses. The young man unrolled his sleeves as the door clicked shut behind him. He was wearing nothing but a shirt and jeans as if he'd forgotten his jacket or only intended to be outside for a minute. Louis would have assumed he'd come out for a smoke, except that instead of pulling out a lighter, he looked around him and began walking further into the alley. He had sandy blond hair that was cut short at the sides and then styled in a disheveled wave on the top of his head. He had been exerting himself wherever he had come from—dancing perhaps, or working in one of the restaurants—and there was a dewy sheen to his face over the pink flush of life.

Louis could have stayed motionless and unnoticed in the darkness, but he felt the need to alert the young man to his presence. He cleared his throat and the young man startled and spun toward him. 

"Pardon," Louis said. "I didn't want to startle you." 

"Oh!" The young man laughed nervously and rubbed his hands up and down his arms to warm himself. "That's all right, that's all right. I thought you were—I was supposed to meet someone out here. Flashy guy." 

"Ah, no. He isn't here yet." Louis came out of the shadows so the young man could see the whiteness of his face and the preternatural brightness of his eyes. "But perhaps I can keep you company." 

The young man nodded, his mouth going slack as Louis came closer to him. He looked vaguely puzzled as Louis took his arm and turned him to stand at a more comfortable angle. Louis adjusted the man's collar, undoing a button and peeling back the fabric to reveal the supple skin beneath. The man's pulse danced in his throat, but despite his racing heart, a deceptive calm had come over him that Louis often saw in victims. Some instinct inside of the man recognized the reality of the situation, but rather than fleeing, his mind froze like a small animal that stumbled upon a wolf in the woods. 

Louis didn't bother to look into the man's mind to check what crime he had committed to be sent to the slaughter. Lestat had no doubt stalked him before tonight and had catalogued all the sordid details of his existence that marked him as an "evildoer." 

Louis put one hand on the man's shoulder and with the other grasped his throat, cutting off his air. The young man startled, but Louis' teeth were in his neck before he had time to react. Too late the man's hands came up to push him away. Already he was losing consciousness and Louis was lost in the song of his blood. 

Fresh, sharp, _alive_. This was a heady elixir. Even in the pitch dark of the alley Louis could taste the bright red of this blood, and with each gulp he drank down the man's years. Fleeting glimpse of a soiled bed, a woman with bruises like bracelets on her arms, a dog straining on the end of a metal chain. The images came fast and surreal with no narrative to stitch them into a whole. Some people lived each day disconnected from the last, never inventing a larger purpose to explain their existence. The events of their lives accumulated like beads strung on a cheap necklace until finally one day the cord was cut. 

The man's knees buckled and Louis held him up by the throat as he continued to drink. His pulse weakened even as his heart sped up to compensate for the lost blood. Louis pulled harder at his veins as he chased the final culmination. He was so lost in the swoon that he barely noticed the scrap of shoes on the pavement behind him. 

The man jolted in his arms and Louis snapped out of his ecstasy to see a white flash of hair. Lestat was holding up the man's limp arm and his mouth was already wet from a wound on his wrist. Louis renewed his own bite and he felt the whisper of Lestat's mind through the conduit between them. At the same instant the man's wavering heart gave out and the death passed over them both in a wave of dark rapture.

Louis released the man's throat and let the body fall limp to the ground between them. He took a step back and reached behind him blindly until he found the brick wall of the alley. He leaned back to catch his breath and closed his eyes. He was still panting when Lestat stepped over the body and crowded up against him to kiss his bloodied mouth. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be departing from the original timeline of the book from here on out, so apologies to any ROA purists reading this.


	8. Chapter 8

Over and over during the following nights, Benji replayed a message from Lestat for the nonhumans. Every hour it repeated, Lestat promising the creatures protection from Rhoshamandes so long as they turned themselves over to the court. With great sincerity and without directly referencing Amel, he professed his desire to meet other unique beings like themselves and learn more of their possible shared history. But the message replayed in vain. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the nonhumans didn't jump at the opportunity to visit the vampire prince in his stronghold. After a flurry of sightings and enigmatic phone messages, they went into hiding and vanished entirely. 

The sense of anxiety at court gradually receded as nights passed without any new incidents or intelligence. Fareed was still looking into the woman known as Kapetria and her work prior to infiltrating Collingsworth Pharmaceuticals, but he had only been able to piece together a vague idea of her real research agenda—something to do with genetics and cloning experiments. Rumors about her scientific work and the dramatic similarity of the strangers' looks somehow led to the court referring to them collectively as "the clones." It was more descriptive than "the nonhumans" or "the creatures" although surely a misnomer since they had no idea of these people’s origins or method of reproduction. 

The most popular theory circulating to explain their sudden appearance and disappearance was that they were some unknown species of immortal that had heard Benji’s broadcasts and been drawn to the spectacle of the court. Louis wasn’t sure he agreed that the clones had revealed themselves only in hopes of being invited to a ball (no matter how lavish), but their interest in Amel suggested a link to their own origins. 

Louis suspected that the mystery might never be solved. Certainly he would not blame the clones if they disappeared forever after drawing the attention of a society of dangerous vampires. Especially not after the London townhouse owned by the one named Garekyn burned to the ground following sightings of Rhoshamandes lurking around the neighborhood.

As the sense of crisis passed, time began to dissolve at the chateau into a long, ever-present moment. Each night was much the same as the next. Louis stood at Lestat's side as he listened to courtiers complain about their petty rivalries, danced at glittering entertainments, and attended council meetings where they talked endlessly without taking any action. When Louis was in his worst moods, the court felt like a triumph of nihilism to him. None of it meant anything and yet they took it all so seriously and insisted that this was somehow the pinnacle of cultured society. Lestat's speeches grew more pompous and weighty each night as he insisted that together the court was elevating itself to a kind of heaven on earth for the undead. 

Was it any wonder that young people like Rose and Viktor would choose to join their ranks rather than live out a dull, "ordinary" mortal life? Or that the vampire underclass would compete for a position as a servant simply to get closer to the ranks of the more-privileged immortals? 

For his part, Louis found himself constantly distracted by ghosts at the chateau. Not the solid ones who arrived wearing designer clothes and looking more human than the elders whom they had come to speak with. No, it was the ghosts of the past he kept seeing, overlaid between him and the daily life of the court like stained glass in a window pane. He could see through them, but the past colored all of the scenery around him and sometimes the angles of the glass fractured the light in surprising ways.

The orchestra was playing Mozart that evening and all Louis could see was Claudia practicing on the piano in the music parlor. She used to be so focused in ways a mortal child would never be capable of. She could spend hours on the same section of music, repeating it over and over mechanically, her head tilted like she heard something in the notes Louis could not. She was incredibly skilled even with her physical limitations. She could almost compensate for her smaller hands by using her inhuman speed and flexibility. _Almost_ , some maneuvers she would never be able to play smoothly. One of her tutors, an old man who habitually smelled of boiled cabbage, would admonish her to have patience whenever she stumbled over the same tricky passages. "It will come with time, in a few years you’ll be able to reach and won’t have to roll the octave." 

Claudia did not raise her eyes from the keys as she began to play again. The same passage, over and over. 

A loud laugh made Louis blink and refocus on the scene in front of him. Earlier, he had retreated to the mezzanine above the ballroom for a moment of quiet. The laughter was coming from a group clustered together below. Looking down, Louis saw that Lestat must have said something amusing as he was looking self-satisfied as everyone tittered in unison around him. 

From above, Louis could see the currents that flowed around the room as guests circulated. The crowd swelled around Lestat, who was busy making a show of his great hospitality to a group of new arrivals as he kissed all the ladies' hands. Slowly but inescapably, everyone was drawn in by the strong pull to get closer to the prince. 

Not everyone was patient enough to wait for natural forces to take their course. There was a disturbance to the left of Lestat, a small eddy where someone was elbowing his way through the crowd and attempting to cut ahead of the others.

The little circle around Lestat shifted and the person forcing his way through became visible. It was Gregory, who had reached the outskirts of the fawning group and was clearly waiting for the opportunity to sweep in and claim Lestat’s attention. Seeing him hovering like a nervous servant pleased Louis, although he knew Gregory wouldn’t have long to wait. Lestat was good at spreading out his favor among the entire crowd of veteran sycophants and dazzled newcomers. 

Lestat was deep in his element sharing an anecdote with his enraptured audience. As Louis watched, he raised his hand in a flourish and everyone within a twenty-foot radius laughed. He kept his hand raised to illustrate some point and Louis’ eyes were drawn to the exposed underside of his wrist flashing from beneath the voluminous lace of his sleeves. The veins were quite distinct even from the other side of the room, raised somewhat and tinged an enticing bluish green. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Louis noticed one of the heads in the crowd had raised and was tilted upward in his direction. Louis startled when he realized it was Gregory who was now staring directly at him. Louis forced a vacant smile and pretended his attention was occupied with the detail of a nearby fresco. He did his best to empty his mind of anything untoward. With so many vampires in one location, any intense emotional response or slipping mental shields tended to draw unwanted attention. 

As he tried to recover himself, Louis let his eyes drift around the room. The ballroom was light and airy, with high ceilings and bright chandeliers, yet when he was there Louis was often reminded of a darker space, one carved out of the ancient vaults of Paris. Sometimes he felt an echo of the despair he had experienced in the subterranean ballroom beneath the Théâtre des Vampires: here he was, finally among his own kind, and they were all so terribly, _terribly_ dull. Was this really how they intended to spend eternity? An endless series of formal dances punctuated by empty ceremony and dull conversation? 

Louis took a deep breath and did his best to shake his dreary feelings. He tried to keep in mind that his distaste for evenings at the chateau had more to do with his own temperament than anything wrong with the vampires in attendance. He actually liked many of them when speaking more intimately. It was only in large groups that he felt this sense of disconnection. 

For most vampires, sameness was something to be sought out rather than avoided. The court was meant to be an island of stability in a changing world, one place where all the faces would stay the same as the years passed and fashion and manners could remain frozen in place. For the younger vampires, it was all an elaborate game with silly costumes, but Louis wondered if that would change in the years to come. Would the trappings of pre-revolutionary France start to feel familiar and comforting to them too? Would the new generations of vampires develop nostalgia for a time and place they had never known? And all because their prince looked back on the late eighteenth century as the last time he had been alive and happy. Did Akasha have nostalgia for the Egypt of her youth? Maybe that was the real purpose of her cult; recreating the happiest years of her reign. 

If he was being truthful, there was very little in the joyful crowd to remind Louis of the Théâtre’s coven. Here, earnestness was more in fashion that cynicism. These vampires were more likely to exclaim their love for one another than try to outdo each other in horrors. The painted decor of the Théâtre des Vampires seemed very dated in contrast to the uplifting grandeur of Chateau de Lioncourt. There was no room in their modern lives for dark scenes of death and religious torment. They no longer looked to images of the monstrous and the darkest aspects of humanity by which to define themselves. They were free of such superstitions. Supposedly. 

The music slowed and came to a halt and polite applause broke out as the orchestra rose to take their bows. The crowd began to shuffle and move about as the musicians left the stage, dancers exiting the floor and the little groups of conversants breaking apart and coming together in new configurations. Louis took it as his cue to return to Lestat and went down the stairs to reenter the fray. 

As he crossed the room, Louis was stopped repeatedly to exchange pleasantries. He tried to remain engaged, but it was exhausting not to be able to go five steps without some near-stranger catching his arm. Thankfully there was a routine sameness to these conversations which made them easy to participate in without much thought. After the usual greetings, there would be a round of complements on Louis' clothing and elegant deportment (acknowledged and returned), followed by inquiries as to his disposition (good), Lestat's mood (boyant), and his opinion of the evening's entertainment (universally positive). Once enough words had been exchanged and friendship reaffirmed in full view of the entire court, Louis would excuse himself and they would separate with hearty pronouncements as to the fine quality of the night and the company.

It was difficult to continue in a straight line because of these interruptions and Louis ended up steered away from his intended path toward the stage. He was attempt to correct his course when he nearly ran into a specter. 

Pale face, dark hair, downcast expression; unkind observers would joke that Louis had nearly run into his double. He remembered that same face, pale and sick, accosting him in the street, desperation etched as deeply as the puncture marks in his neck. The same face standing in the dark looking up with calculated malice as Claudia gasped and drew back beside him. _Louis, he’s down there. Look out the window._

Antoine adjusted the sheet music tucked under his arm and greeted Louis with a bob of his head. "Oh, good evening."

Louis managed a smile, but couldn’t bring himself to respond. He should say something to be polite, complement his playing probably, but the moment drew out in silence. Another musician on the way to the stage raised his hand to Antoine and he turned away. 

Louis was always short with Antoine, which he knew was uncalled for. Antoine made every effort to be courteous to him. He ought to be capable of forgiving him, or at least letting go of his discomfort. Lestat’s speeches always included platitudes about how they must love one another and forgive old grudges. Louis hadn’t been trying very hard to live up to that sentiment. 

It wasn't really Antoine himself Louis disliked, but how the man reminded him of the essential insecurity of his place in the glittering world of the court. He was like an actor seeing his understudy and remembering that the performance could go on without him. The shock he got every time he encountered him was a constant reminder of how much he still had to make up for.

Louis could hear hushed voices taking the eager tone of a scene witnessed and gossip shared, but he didn’t let himself focus in on it. Instead he pushed through the crowd and broke into the small gathering standing around Lestat. 

A woman whose name Louis couldn't remember gave him a dirty look when he displaced her, but quickly ceded her spot at Lestat's side when she registered who he was. Lestat smiled at him, but didn't break from the conversation. He was in the middle of an anecdote Louis had heard many times before about his rise to fame in the 1980s. 

"And the concierge goes—'that ma'am, is one of the greatest living vocalists of rock n' roll.' And she goes, 'oh my gosh, I can't believe I didn't recognize him. I love Led Zeppelin.'" 

The surrounding vampires laughed and Lestat leaned back to soak up their admiration. He winked at Louis and put his arm around his waist to draw him in closer. 

"Excuse my rudeness, Madam, you haven't met Monsieur Pointe du Lac, have you?"

Louis and the woman exchanged greetings, and the conversation carried along exactly as expected. 

"I simply had to come this week for the masquerade," the woman gushed as her friends nodded in agreement.

"Of course, wonderful," Louis said. Someone had suggested they hold a masked ball in honor of the Carnival season and Lestat had naturally agreed. Louis thought it was somewhat silly for a group of vampires to celebrate the approach of Lent, but any excuse for a party he supposed. It wasn't like they would all be fasting come Ash Wednesday. 

After the usual pleasantries were out of the way, Lestat took back center stage and began relating stories about his and Louis' time in New Orleans attending society balls and mingling with unsuspecting mortals. It was in some ways very similar to their life now at the chateau, although in those days all of their socializing had sinister overtones. No one in this room was going to end up a meal at the end of the night, which added a pleasant, if ironic, sense of innocence to their interactions.

Sybelle was giving a formal recital that evening to debut a new piece accompanied by the chateau orchestra. Lestat made the pre-performance announcement around 2:30am and more than half of the assembled crowd retired to the theater where the grand piano was set up on the stage.

The theater was, in Louis' opinion, the best new amenity that Lestat had added to the chateau. It was outfitted with 250 red velvet seats, a massive crystal chandelier, and a state of the art sound system. It was mainly used for film screenings and musical performances, but they'd also mounted one theatrical production a few months prior. Louis had missed Lestat's turn on the boards as Macbeth, but he was sure he would witness another play before long. 

There was only one level of seats as it was too small to fit a balcony, but there was a single raised box to the left of the stage, it’s purpose made apparent by the gilded crown embedded in the archway over top. Naturally, it was important that the prince have a seat where everyone could see him. 

Louis found himself seated in the royal box uncomfortably early and aware of the many eyes staring up at them. Lestat was on his left speaking animatedly with Marius and Gregory who had joined them in the royal box to discuss some detail of the new constitution. Lestat loved to conduct ‘business’ in full view of the court. He liked to remind everyone about the boring details and responsibilities he had humbly undertaken on their behalf. 

Louis could tell that the conversation was wearing on Lestat however. He began to look agitated as Gregory tried to illustrate some point by telling an overly long story about Swiss banking practices. Marius interrupted and the two of them started to argue in Latin while Lestat rolled his eyes. He fidgeted with his phone and looked out at the crowd with a restless air before glancing over at Louis. 

Lestat winked when he saw Louis was looking at him and leaned closer with a warm gleam in his eye. Louis felt a flash of worry that he was going to try to kiss him when everyone was watching, but Lestat only reached out and took Louis’ hand where it was resting in his lap. He entwined their fingers together and let their hands come to rest on his thigh. Louis smiled at him and tried not to pay attention to the hot prickle on the side of his face from hundreds of eyes. His hand felt uncomfortably stiff and awkward in Lestat’s grip. 

Lately, Lestat was always making small expressions of affection like that in public. Louis supposed it fit with the image he wanted his subjects to have of him as a passionate romantic.

The choir and the musicians entered the stage finally, drawing away the attention of the restless crowd. The house lights dimmed much to Louis' relief, casting the audience into darkness. 

Sybelle stepped out to take her bows and the concert began. There was a quaintness to performances at the chateau that Louis enjoyed. The closeness of the stage and the intimacy of the small theater made it feel a bit like watching a performance at a private club among friends. It was in a sense the vampire version of community theater. The entertainers had all spent the majority of their lives performing for mortals—powdering their faces and disguising their strength to allow themselves to "pass" as ordinary people. It was only for an audience of other vampires that they could reveal the true extent of their supernatural talents. Even the Théâtre des Vampires had been careful not to enact any tricks that would be impossible for human actors to reproduce. As Lestat had discovered, audiences could sense when a seemingly-impossible feat was not a result of stage trickery or ordinary skill, and would react in confusion and fear. 

Louis listened to the music for the first movement, letting the sweep of it carry him away, but before long he became distracted by the whispering of the vampires below them. Inevitably, as the piece went on, the crowd grew bored and soft conversation broke out. The loudness of the music offered a false impression of privacy, but Louis’ hearing was very good these days, and it was easy to single out individual speakers. The sound of his own name soon drew his attention. 

"—how the prince dotes on him," whispered a female voice. 

"I’d want to keep a close eye on him too," a male voice replied with a playful edge of viciousness. 

"Oh, hush," the first woman said in an undertone. "It’s romantic. To go through so much and still return to each other."

There was a creak of a seat shifting. "Yes, so many obstacles," a third voice put in from somewhere just behind them, the words dripping with a cloying and ironic sweetness. "Particularly Lestat walking through that wall of flame from the thrown lamp."

There was a titter of shocked laughter from nearby seatmates, followed by a wave of insincere admonishments. 

"Shh! Have some propriety!"

"Really now!" 

"Keep your voices down."

"Love forgives all trespasses," a man said in a wise tone of voice.

"Hmm, love," the vicious one repeated. "And stupidity!" 

Louis made an effort to tune out the snickering. The words he had heard on his first night at the chateau flashed through his mind— _reunion honeymoon, but just wait._ He hated the feeling that all these strangers were watching his relationship with Lestat like a sordid daytime soap opera. Any sign that things had shifted between them would be pounced upon like a scrap of meat thrown before a pack of starving dogs. 

Louis glanced at Lestat, but he didn’t seem to have picked up on the whispering. He had the rapturous expression on his face that usually indicated he was swept up in good music. Louis uncrossed his legs and adjusted his position in his chair, using the movement as an excuse to release Lestat’s hand. He tried to stay focused on the music, but his ghosts were beckoning. 

When Claudia was first beginning to test the limits of their small, cloistered world, she liked to spy on the neighbors and listen to their conversations. Louis had been distressed by this eavesdropping and tried to impress upon her that it was a sordid habit, but Claudia had fully absorbed Lestat's view of mortals as entertaining playthings. There was little Louis could do to dissuade her from this mindset or from her enjoyment of snooping. Because she knew he disapproved, she would often tease him with whatever new detail she had learned during her evening walks through the Quarter. She enjoyed following the vulgar minutiae of mortal lives and observing the little dramas which played out in kitchens and parlors. Some of it was the lowest sort of gossip, stories about a housewife cozying up to the delivery man while her husband was away, or of a family living beyond their means deep in debt, or something as small as one man snubbing another in the street. 

Other times she would describe with fascination the small rituals of mortal life—how she saw a man being shaved by a barber, or servants emptying chamber pots in the early hours of the morning, or a child eating fresh cherries and spitting out the pits. Claudia had no memory of these sorts of experiences in her own life, so it wasn't surprising that she was curious. Later Louis would wonder if this wasn't the first inkling of her dissatisfaction with her circumstances.

Claudia's absolutely favorite thing to overhear however was when she caught a neighbor gossiping about _them_. The common opinion held among the servants in the nearby households seemed to be that Louis and Lestat were terrible reprobates who were never seen in church and stayed up all hours of the night committing acts of indecency. This wasn't inaccurate, of course, nor was the observation that they had no business tending to the moral upbringing of a young girl. 

Lestat had found it all hilarious, naturally, and had revelled in their bad reputation, despite Louis reminding him how important it was for them to pass unnoticed. Louis had tried to remain stern with Claudia, but even he had to admit that it was amusing how their activities were misinterpreted as ordinary immorality rather than supernatural evil.

At the time, the gossip had worried Louis only because any mortal taking undue notice of them was worrying, but it hadn't upset him. Now though… now he found himself listening for gossip as attentively as Claudia once did, but without any of her perverse joy. 

The whispers would be easier to ignore if it was all lies, but of course it was not. Everything that was said about him was true and most of it came straight from the pages of his own book. Their scorn didn’t bother him necessarily—Louis had spent decades being hated by other vampires for his various crimes—but previously he didn’t actually spend much time in the company of his kin. Here, there was no escaping them, and the more he saw of their "tribe," the more doubt he had about this experiment with communal living. There was a reason most vampires were solitary predators.

At the end of the night, Lestat bid the assembled vampires adieu and adjourned with Louis to his private rooms at the top of the south tower. This was where Lestat kept his "office," which in theory was meant for receiving important dignitaries, although Louis had yet to see it used for any actual princely business. The whole room was decorated rather unsubtly with symbols of kingship and power. There was an abundance of fleur-de-lis and crown motifs in the room’s textiles and the elaborately carved mantelpiece over the fireplace featured multiple lion heads as well as a _fasces_ crossed with a sword. The ax Lestat had taken to carrying around with him last year had pride-of-place hanging on the south wall. Beneath it, there was a huge executive desk sized to fit the political status and the ego of its owner. 

The room also contained a comfortable seating area with a sofa and chairs, which was where Lestat usually wound down the remaining hours of the morning with Louis and any one else he felt like inviting. Louis heard a lot of whispered gossip about who had the favor of the prince based on who was granted access to these private gatherings. 

Tonight, they were alone, and Lestat was full of petty complaints. Louis spent the remaining hour of the night listening to him gripe about the trials of leadership. 

"And then he said, ‘I’m sure the prince is too busy for that,’ which, _I am,_ but of course I can’t say ‘you’re right!’ and tell him to knock it off, so I had to spend half an hour listening to all this nonsense about some dispute in Bulgaria of all places. Like I know anything about Bulgaria!"

Louis actually enjoyed this part of being at the chateau. Being at Lestat’s side meant constant public attention, but it also meant he got the privilege of private time with him without a hundred other eyes on them. And although usually Louis didn’t want to encourage it, Lestat was entertaining when he was in a froth about something and playing it up. He had endless stories about the latest affronts and impositions he’d suffered as prince and how he’d bravely restrained himself from blasting the offenders to pieces. 

"What a bore," Lestat continued. "Marius insists he’s influential, but I wish he’d go back to Sofia and stop dragging down the mood here."

"He does seem tiresome," Louis agreed, adding with only mild sarcasm. "It’s a good thing you’re so patient."

"I’m like a _saint_. The Pope himself would tell these people to shut their mouths. Which reminds me, you won’t believe what those new arrivals said to me this evening—" 

Louis waited until Lestat had vented his frustrations and was winding down before asking about the one resident of the chateau Lestat had yet to mention. "And… is Amel still being quiet?" 

"Yes, he's barely said a word to me all night. I should probably be enjoying the silence." Lestat rolled his eyes. "It's strange though, he had such a mania for the clones after they left that message. He made me replay the part with the ancient language over and over for him and he kept repeating the sounds… but now it's as if he's sick of the whole thing."

"He still doesn't understand it?"

Lestat shrugged. "No, or not that he's told me. Marius and Seth haven't had any luck with deciphering it either, aside from picking out a few words that are similar in Sanskrit."

"It must be a very old language."

"I suppose, or a very unique dialect." 

"Well, it’s almost time," Louis said, preempting the alarm on Lestat’s phone which would go off in a minute to remind him of his early bedtime. 

"Ah." Lestat glanced at the window. "So it is." He stood up and offered his arm to Louis as they walked to the door. 

This was another one of their customs now: Louis accompanying Lestat to the fortified entrance to his sleeping crypt and wishing him good night. 

At the door, Lestat took Louis’ shoulders in his hands and glazed at him, his eyes running warmly over Louis’ face. "You were beautiful tonight." 

Louis smiled back at him. For a moment he remembered another night in a different place, out in the open air with the smell of dust and acacia blossoms in the air. Louis’ throat felt tight remembering that time and the optimism he’d felt for a brief shining moment. In the present, Lestat took Louis’ hand and raised it to his mouth to press a short kiss to his knuckles. "Until tomorrow."

"Yes," Louis agreed softly before turning to go. Behind him, the heavy iron door slid shut smoothly on well oiled hinges. 


	9. Chapter 9

It was easy to lose track of the nights at the chateau. Each evening blended into the next and there was little to distinguish one night from another except for the different entertainments planned for the enjoyment of the court. 

Thus it was, Louis awoke one evening with the realization that the masquerade was tonight and he was completely unprepared. He would need something more to wear than his usual Lestat-approved formal clothing, but he had no idea whatsoever what his costume should be. He didn't even have a mask. 

He went in search of Lestat and found him in his office in the south tower lying on a couch. He was typing on his laptop and had on the little pair of prescriptionless reading glasses that he sometimes wore as an affectation. He insisted that they helped him work as they were "writer's" glasses, whatever that meant.

"Am I interrupting you?" Louis asked as he hesitated in the doorway. 

"Yes," Lestat said and continued to type without pause. 

"Sorry." Louis suppressed the urge to twist his hands or fidget with his clothing. "I just wanted to ask you about tonight—about the masquerade…"

Lestat stopped typing but kept his hands on the keyboard as he looked at Louis over the rim of his glasses. "What about it?" 

“Is there any kind of… theme?” 

“Yes,” Lestat said. “Anonymity.”

Louis pressed his lips together and held in the desire to sigh. “What are you wearing then?”

“I’m the king of the revel,” Lestat said. “I have a crown and a gold mask to match.”

“Very anonymous."

“The crown was a gift," Lestat insisted. "I can’t be rude by refusing to wear it!”

“Uh huh, a gift from whom?”

“Gregory.” 

"Of course." That was exactly the kind of obsequious present Louis would expect from him. 

“I could ask him to find a matching tiara for you,” Lestat suggested, and laughed at his own joke. 

"Isn't the king of carnival usually a fool?" 

"Yes, but Armand was kind enough to relinquish the crown to me for the night," Lestat said and winked at him. 

"Ha ha," Louis said flatly. "It all feels a bit grotesque to me—"

"Of course it does." 

Louis ignored the interruption. "Vampires in costumes celebrating carnival? It's perverse. Maybe I should take inspiration from that. What if I go as the Red Death?"

Lestat huffed in annoyance. "You think you're the only one who's going to come up with a Poe reference? You're more creative than that." 

"Am I?" Louis asked. "I'm not sure I'm suited to all this theatricality."

Lestat rolled his eyes. "Then don't worry about it. Go buy a tourist trinket in Venice and wear that." 

"Do you want to take me to Venice?" Louis asked innocently, not really expecting an affirmative answer. 

Lestat made a dismissive motion. "You can take yourself. I have to finish preparations for tonight."

"Right," Louis said. "The staff can't supervise itself." 

Louis left Lestat to finish his writing or emails or whatever he was doing in his effort to impersonate a "working" monarch. He seriously considered going to Venice for a quick shopping trip—or perhaps a long one—but it seemed like a lonely journey to undertake by himself. Anyway, there was a storm front coming up from the west that would make travel very unpleasant. He resolved to do his best to construct an outfit out of his existing wardrobe. Lestat had filled Louis' closets at the chateau with dozens of racks of clothing, much of which he had never even tried on. Surely he could find something appropriately extravagant.

He went to the ballroom first to see if the decorations gave him any ideas for his costume, but it was early yet and the staff was still racing about with all their preternatural speed moving furniture and hanging garlands of flowers. Louis felt rather in the way and left to see if anyone was hanging around in the public areas of the chateau. He would have liked to ask the other guests what they planned to wear, but there was no one in the courtyard or any of the salons except more of the household vampires readying the place for the party. Everyone else must be in their private rooms getting dressed, which was what Louis should be doing now instead of annoying the staff. 

Louis went to his quarters finally to go through the contents of his dressing room. He found four masks laid out for him on the vanity with a note from Lestat. “Beggars can’t be choosers.”

Three of them were brightly colored half-masks in different shades, but the fourth was a full-face Volto mask in white with delicate silver and black lace designs around the eyes. When he held it up to his face, Louis was struck by how impassive and serene it appeared. The mouth was straight and without a hint of a smile to break the severity of the expression. 

Louis lowered the mask and went into his closet to consider his many options. There were suits in every color of the rainbow, all of them perfectly tailored to his frame. He felt a more archaic style would be appropriate, something to fit with the medieval origins of the masquerade tradition, but there wasn't much that strayed from the knee-length coat, waistcoat, and breeches of the _habit à la française_. Every suit he had was either a modern cut or in the style of the pre-Revolutionary era that the court tried so hard to recreate.

Louis found himself drawn, not unexpectedly, to one of the more subdued options: a dark velvet suit with shimmering silver grapevines embroidered up and down the front. The velvet was a rich royal blue so dark that it appeared black from a distance. Combined with the white face mask, the outfit created a stark and arresting figure. Louis liked the severe look, but exchanged the matching waistcoat for a plum-colored one so Lestat couldn't complain that he was too monochrome. 

As it turned out, Louis' costume was quite complementary to Lestat's ensemble. Once he was dressed, he went up to Lestat's room and found him in his boudoir wearing a dazzling outfit of cloth-of-gold and satin. The look was completed with an ermine-trimmed robe and a golden scepter that matched the jeweled crown on his head. Louis' silver and dark velvet was complementary to Lestat, while also being subdued enough to fade into the background and allow him to be the center of attention. Standing together in the mirror, they looked like a pagan embodiment of the sun and the moon. For once, Lestat made minimal adjustments to Louis' clothing, only insisting that he switch out his linen and lace shirt for a shiny synthetic fabric from his own closet and adding several pieces of silver jewelry.

Lestat still needed to put the finishing touches on his hair and face, so Louis took a seat on the small couch next to his vanity (after shifting several furs piled on it to the side). While Louis waited, Lestat went through his vast library of cosmetics and began applying his makeup.

"Aren't you going to be wearing a mask?" Louis asked as Lestat struggled with eyelash extensions that refused to be glued on straight. "Does it really matter?"

"It's only a half-mask and you can still see my eyes." Lestat cursed and ripped one of the falsies off and threw it down on the vanity table. "I knew I should have gone with the mink."

"Why don't you just powder your face?" Louis asked, as Lestat started removing his eye makeup for the second time to start fresh. "Aren't you supposed to be the Sun King? Put on a beauty spot and be done with it." 

"I don't have any syphilis sores to cover up," Lestat said. "If you're bored go down and make yourself useful by checking that the early arrivals are having a good time."

Louis rolled his eyes, but got up since they should have been downstairs receiving guests 45 minutes ago. It wasn't the first time and surely wouldn't be the last that they had broken with protocol because Lestat wasn't ready at the appointed hour. 

The bal masqué was not much different from the other entertainments Louis had attended at the chateau. The only real change was that both the chateau and the guests were decorated even more opulently than usual. 

Louis went through the public salons on his way to the ballroom and found each one was dressed as a different picturesque tableau. Small placards at the door of each room helpfully explained the intended themes such as "a Roman holiday" or "the Garden of Eden." 

On entering the ballroom, Louis found it had been transformed through the hanging of velvet curtains and garlands of flowers into a vast playground of purple, gold, and green. A few dozen early arrivals were already scattered around the floor, standing in small groups. Louis came in through a side door, and no one took any notice of his entrance as they were all facing away from him toward the raised stage at the front of the room. A huge, golden bandshell so tall it nearly brushed the ceiling had been installed for the occasion and was currently occupied by a somewhat-dwarfed string section. The musicians were gamely playing the Praeludium from Grieg's Holberg Suite, but no one was paying much attention. There was an air of nervous anticipation in the room and, not for the first time, Louis reflected that it was unfortunate vampires couldn’t hold drinks or hors d'oeuvres plates at parties to help them hide their awkwardness. 

A wonderful variety of costumes was already on display. It seemed people had seized upon the opportunity to wear something other than the usual _ancien regime_ drag. As he walked among the visitors, he spotted a man in embroidered Byzantine robes, a woman in an ancient Minoan gown, and a man in a medieval tunic with long trailing sleeves. All, of course, were masked as was required for entry to the ball. 

As Louis moved around the room, heads turned toward him and then shortly looked away as if he wasn't interesting enough to warrant further examination. He belatedly realized that in his mask and without Lestat at his side, no one knew who he was. The usual fawning attention and endless series of acquaintances waiting to greet him failed to materialize. Instead he was largely ignored except for a few curious glances. The guests probably assumed he was one of the nameless young vampires who flocked to court for the rare opportunity to make connections with the ancient ones. 

The only person to pay him any attention at all was a man in a ruddy red mask with a large fake mustache who leered at Louis as he walked past. Below the mask, he had on a huge white ruff and a crimson, military-style jacket. He winked and Louis felt certain he knew the man, but was unable to place him. There was something deeply malevolent about the mask's twisted features, yet his unease was about more than simply the costume. Louis had the sense of a very personal animosity directed at him. He wondered if the man assumed he was someone else with whom he had a long-standing grudge. Such simmering feuds weren't uncommon in the court and often traced back centuries. Louis pretended not to notice the man's ill intent and bowed his head to acknowledge him politely before moving on. 

He retreated to one of the alcoves off of the ballroom floor to watch as the room filled with guests. Barely anyone took notice of where he stood leaning in the shadows next to a pedestal with a large porcelain vase. Louis knew he was being negligent by not fulfilling his duties as a host, but he rather enjoyed the opportunity to watch their guests without being watched back. He heard snippets of conversation, but all of it was pleasantly innocuous and for once there were no snide comments about the prince or his choice of companions. There were, however, many innocent questions exchanged about when Lestat would make an appearance. Usually he would have been present by now to greet arrivals as they entered the main hall of the chateau. 

The dancing was scheduled to begin at midnight, as was customary, and as the hour crept nearer, more and more vampires filled the room. There were outfits representing nearly every era of European court dress since the middle ages and a good number of other regions and time periods, many of which Louis couldn't place. 

Most of the guests had selected half masks which left their mouths bare and didn't do much to disguise the wearer's identity, but full-face plague doctor masks were also popular. Lestat had predicted correctly that a number of visitors had come in crimson robes alluding to Poe's story of the Mask of the Red Death. Vampires really were very predictable sometimes; even here, where sensibilities had turned against making light of their nature, many couldn't resist the macabre associations of such costumes. 

Anticipation was building as the full orchestra arrived and assembled on stage in preparation for the night's dancing. Louis was beginning to wonder if something serious had happened to delay Lestat when the great grandfather clock at the back of the ballroom rang out with its solemn chimes. The lights dimmed except for the sconces lighting the stairs and the mezzanine above the ballroom and the buzz of voices quieted. All eyes turned upward and there was a wave of gasps as the prince appeared at the top of the stairs in all of his regal finery. He was wearing so much shimmering gold and glittering jewelry that he almost looked like an actual star—the only sun their kind could admire and around whom the entire life of the court revolved. Lestat raised his hands with a flash of reflected light and on cue the musicians launched into an orchestral version of the title track from _The Vampire Lestat_.

Louis stepped out of the alcove in the midst of roaring applause and began to work his way through the rear of the crowd. At first, no one took any notice of him, too distracted by the prince's dramatic entrance, but Louis knew his movement would be very obvious to Lestat standing at the top of the stairs. 

Louis worked his way to the front of the room, whispering pardons and edging around the distracted gawkers, until gradually more and more people became aware that something was happening behind them and made room for him to pass. Toward the front, the crowd parted to provide a wide aisle for him. Lestat was still at the top of the stairs waiting as if they had rehearsed this, and with a flourish he beckoned for Louis to join him. Louis climbed the stairs while the audience watched in hushed silence.

Lestat smiled broadly when Louis reached him and took his waiting hand. He turned to stand in his place at Lestat's side and face the gathered crowd. Together, they made their way down the stairs to the final stanzas of _The Vampire Lestat._ As soon as they had reached the floor, the song finished and the orchestra began a waltz. The assembled audience hastened to make room for the first dance. The ball had officially begun. 

Louis found himself in good spirits as they greeted the first petitioners waiting at the bottom of the stairs. In practical terms, there wasn't much difference between tonight and any other entertainment at the chateau aside from the increased opulence, and yet the creativity and variety on display cheered him. The conversations might be the same as they always were and yet the crowd seemed less stagnant and banal dressed in their masks and bright outfits. Perhaps they should encourage more freedom in the costumes that guests wore to the chateau. 

The gaiety of the assembled vampires felt more sincere and less forced as well. For once, Louis could believe that they really were enjoying themselves and not simply putting on the expected expressions of happiness and awe that the court was supposed to instill in all of its guests. 

After the first round of dancing, they departed the ballroom for a performance in the theater, which turned out to be a series of dances interspersed with short _commedia dell'arte_ skits. Lestat was delighted and proceeded to critique the performances at length while going on about how the masks from the commedia influenced carnival and vice versa. 

"You see, Columbina is a type of zanni—that is, the servant characters—"

"Yes, I remember," Louis said. He tried to interject periodically when Lestat was pontificating to remind him that they were supposed to be having a conversation. 

"—the female version. We didn't have one in our troupe, but often she would help her mistress who was hopelessly in love with the innamorato, who was of course the most handsome fine specimen of a young man—"

"Of course." 

"—no one could behold him and not love him for his perfect physique and vigorous personality. Although, he was also completely hopeless when it came to the beautiful young lady, and in need of assistance from his own zanni—"

"How lucky that they were so well supplied with clever servants." 

"Indeed."

Louis could sense the audience was half listening to the performance and half keeping an ear turned toward the royal box. It was disconcerting, but by now Louis was used to speaking with the knowledge that an entire room was listening. 

On stage, a harlequin in a multicolored coat was wooing a masked female dancer while an older male character did his best to prevent their flirtations. Whenever the older man turned his back, the couple would begin to dance, but the instant he looked toward them they would take on innocent poses miming household tasks as if they were only sweeping the floor or washing a table or otherwise productively engaged.

Lestat clapped approvingly as the skit ended with the older man chasing the harlequin off stage waving a wooden baton. "Did I ever tell you what characteristic is most important for the best commedia performers?” 

"I'm sure you have," Louis said without looking away from the stage. A trio of female dancers entered and began a ballet performance. 

"A commedia actor must embody his role," Lestat continued. "And inhabit it to such a degree that he could spontaneously act and speak as his character in any situation. The key was to fall into it and merge with the character—to become as one being.”

“Uh huh,” Louis said. “Since so much of it was improvisational?”

“Yes,” Lestat said. “Although many of the little jokes that seem spontaneous are rehearsed over and over. You practice until it becomes second nature. But even more important than that, we would play to type. The clowns would be clownish in real life, the lovers were often married couples, and I, of course, was a romantic hero off-stage as well as on.”

“Of course,” Louis said and made a show of rolling his eyes. “Weren’t the lovers quite idiotic?”

“Naive,” Lestat said and laughed at his disrespect. “They were ingenues, which was why I was a good match as a provincial boy who had arrived in Paris only a few months before.”

“Hm,” Louis said. He glanced down at the sea of faces below them in the audience. Several heads turned away to avoid being caught staring. Louis had shaken hands with most of the costumed guests below, but as he searched the rows he found one that he had seen earlier was missing. "What about the soldier with the red mask, what's he called?"

" _Il Capitano?_ " Lestat pronounced every Italian word with exaggerated perfection. "A very dastardly character. He's a con artist at heart, putting on a false facade and claiming military honors he does not possess." 

"I see." 

"Generally, by the end of the performance he gets his comeuppance and is revealed to be a liar and a coward. He's usually a figure of fun, but sometimes he can take on a more villainous role."

"Hm." Louis turned this over in his mind, trying to place why the man had made him feel so disquieted. He realized he was tapping his fingers on his knee and stopped himself, not wanting to give the impression that he was bored by the performance. 

Another commedia sketch began as the harlequin returned to the stage along with a doctor character in a long mask. The main joke of the sketch seemed to be that the harlequin was trying to get assistance for impotence, but was too embarrassed to explain his malady outright to the doctor. Everyone else, including Lestat, seemed to be amused by the crude humor, but Louis found himself unable to focus on the performance. He felt disquieted, the memory of the red-masked Capitano still disturbing him somehow. He smiled when the audience laughed and clapped along with them, but he felt very far away, like he was watching the scene on a television screen instead of live in a theater. 

It was a relief to get up after the bows and the final curtain. They returned to the ballroom for the second half of the night, where the orchestra played modern dances like the foxtrot and the one-step. Louis took a few turns with some of the female guests while Lestat was busy attending to his endless petitioners. There were only so many complaints about territorial disputes that Louis could listen to before he could no longer hide his boredom. 

Unexpectedly, after the fourth waltz, Louis found himself without a partner standing on the edge of the dance floor. He could see Lestat on the opposite end of the room in the corner that acted as his informal receiving room during entertainments. 

Lestat was speaking with a vampire whose name Louis could not remember, but whom he knew to be exceedingly tiresome. He had arrived at the court in hopes of winning back his territorial homeland in Grenoble, which he had lost to an upstart coven during the Napoleonic Wars while he was out of town due to the disruptions caused by the fighting. Lestat kept telling Monsieur Grenoblois that there was more than enough room for multiple vampires in a single city in these enlightened times, but he refused to take the hint and was campaigning for a royal decree making the entire city his private domain. 

Not in the mood to hear of the privations of the upstart Grenoblois, Louis retreated to one of the further alcoves of the room to take a seat. He didn’t have a book anywhere on his person, which was irritating, but at least he could have a few moments rest and watch the dancing. 

Louis found himself glad for his distant perch when Notker, the court’s musical director, rose between songs to make an announcement. Louis’ view of the stage was obscured and he could only make out a glimpse of Notker between the heads of the crowd. It took several tries before he was able to gain the attention of the audience and achieve silence enough Grenoblois to be heard. 

“Yes, I do apologize, thank you," Notker said, both hands raised above his head. "If you’ll indulge me for a moment, thank you. We are interrupting the planned program for a special performance. One of the court's most gifted composers and musicians would like to present a little ‘preview,’ if you like, of a movement from a suite he is writing in honor of the prince.” Notker paused as the crowd applauded. Louis clapped a few times politely but he was already bracing himself for what was to come. “It is my great pleasure, to present to you tonight, the prince’s beloved fledgling from the days of old New Orleans, Antoine, premiering his _Bourrée d’Lion._ ”

As the crowd clapped, a dark head rose up from the midst of the orchestra and came forward haltingly. Antoine shuffled sideways past the strings section and approached the grand piano with his face turned downward as if he was avoiding looking at the audience. Louis was relieved that he was at the back of the room where it would be harder for anyone to gauge his reaction.

The crowd quieted as they waited for Antoine to get seated. It was always strange how silent a crowd of vampires could be in such moments. There was no awkward coughing or shifting around as with a mortal audience; they waited with the unnatural patience and perfect stillness of the undead. 

After a long silent moment sitting on the piano bench, Antoine launched into his performance with an abrupt fury of hands and elbows. The bourrée wasn’t part of the court’s usual repertoire and there was some confusion as most of the dancers cleared the floor except for a few of the older or braver attendees who knew the steps. The tune was lively and carefree, very quick with a characteristic rustic feel. Louis supposed it might be considered appealing, or at least inoffensive, but he didn’t relish the thought of having to sit through the full performance of the entire dance suite some day. 

The melody looped in circles, seeming to repeat the same refrain three or four times until Louis was thoroughly tired of it. Finally, Antoine rushed into the final stanza and ended with a flurry of notes that concluded as abruptly as the piece had begun. After an awkward pause, the crowd realized that the song was finished and applauded again. Antoine turned and looked at the audience for the first time in triumph. His face was as red and flushed as if he had just fed. He made a show of walking to the far end of the stage, facing the corner of the room where Lestat was standing, and bowing very low toward him. 

There was some disturbance at the front of the room that Louis couldn’t see clearly and then Lestat bobbed into view as he climbed the stairs to the stage and went to stand next to Antoine. Louis cringed realizing Lestat was going to speak and say some words of gratitude to his “beloved fledgling.” Louis half rose to his feet, hesitating over whether to risk hurrying out of the room. Would it be too noticeable if he left now? His current hiding spot was unobtrusive, but venturing out toward the exits would surely draw attention. Anyone who spotted him would jump immediately to the assumption that he was envious and angry. 

Before he could decide, there was a tisking sound from beside him. Louis startled at the realization that his location was not as private as he supposed. Someone had slipped in while he was distracted to stand unnoticed in the shadows of the alcove only a few feet away. He would have been more alarmed, but he recognized the jaded sound of disapproval. 

Gabrielle stepped out of the dark so that the light fell upon her face, illuminating her white skin and her golden hair austerely drawn back from her face. Lestat was speaking on the stage, sharing his usual platitudes of love and forgiveness, but Louis heard him only dimly. In obedience to the theme, Gabrielle had a black domino mask, albeit affixed to a stick and held casually in her hand rather than covering her face. The simple mask matched her austere black tailcoat and white shirt and tie. She looked very dapper and poised and utterly bored. She glanced toward the stage and shook her head, then turned solemnly to Louis and said in an undertone, "I swear he has more fledglings now than I had miscarriages." 

Louis' eyes widened as he fought to keep his face frozen in a neutral expression. There was no hint from Gabrielle if she was being facetious, only a merciless patience as she watched him struggle with how to respond. The audience began to applaud as Lestat’s speech came to an end. 

Louis let out a nervous giggle that sounded more like a bird warning about the presence of a predator than genuine amusement. This must have been an acceptable response because Gabrielle tilted her head back and the corners of her mouth turned up ever so slightly. 

“Take me for a walk,” she said and offered her arm to him. “If I have to talk to one more empty-headed, optimistic child I’m going to scream.” 

Louis took her arm, although if anything he was the one being led by Gabrielle. He let her steer him into one of the adjourning salons and from there to an exterior balcony overlooking the courtyard. Outside, snow was falling and a fringe of icicles hung from the balustrade. It felt hushed and quiet compared to the din of the ballroom. The reflected light from the windows behind them illuminated the snowflakes as they fell and they burned like little falling stars for an instant before disappearing back into darkness. 

“You’re not enjoying the court, I take it?” Louis asked after a moment's hesitation. Such a question was near-blasphemy, but he felt relatively secure voicing it outside in the quiet stillness of the night. 

Gabrielle shook her head in disdain. She went to the balustrade and stood with her back to him looking out on the snow-dusted courtyard. “Silly games for silly children.” 

“I was somewhat surprised to see you here,” Louis admitted. 

“I could say the same to you,” Gabrielle said and glanced over her shoulder at him. “But I assume we’re here for the same reasons.” 

She was so assured. Louis longed to borrow some of her certainty of purpose. “To support Lestat?” 

“Of course,” she said. “And others.” 

Louis went to stand next to her and rested his hands on the icy crust of snow on top of the balustrade. The cold felt good against his hands. “But you don’t believe in the project itself.” 

“Giving vampires a government?" She scoffed. "No, I don’t see the point. It won’t last.”

Louis nodded. “I'm also unsure about its longevity... but I’ve decided it might be beneficial to try.” 

Gabrielle shook her head. “None of it matters. It won’t solve the real problems we face and before long the squabbles of a few hundred vampires will be meaningless.”

“How do you mean?”

She looked surprised, like he was being disappointingly thick. “In another fifty years the earth will be completely transformed. I’ve seen it already in the jungles: lush land made barren, whole species disappearing, nature pushed to the brink. The optimists think they can control it, manage the devastation, but it won’t take much for agriculture to collapse and the modern world to go with it.”

Louis nodded but made a skeptical noise. “The future looks dire, I agree, but I don’t think it will affect us very much. Humans will survive in one form or another and mass death only makes it easier for vampires to hide.” 

“Ah, but how different such a life will be, a return to the dark ages.” She turned to face him fully and he saw she was smiling. She practically glowed with delight as she continued. “All the comforts of technology and the anonymity of vast cities, _gone_. Vampires will have to go back to preying off the dregs of society from the cover of cemeteries.”

Louis shrugged. “Or use our riches to live like kings while the world collapses.” 

“For a time perhaps,” Gabrielle said, dismissing the idea with a shake of her head. “But it won’t be sustainable. We’ll be like maggots growing fat off a corpse and withering once every scrap of flesh has been consumed.”

Louis winced. “An evocative image.” 

“I thought _you_ at least would appreciate it.” She was teasing him, but he couldn't tell if it was with kind intent or only disdain. “Lately Lestat keeps scolding me for being too morbid.”

“Yes, how terrible, a morbid vampire,” Louis said. “No, I agree with your assessment of the trends, but I think your predictions might be, uh... wishful thinking about how you wish us to live.” 

“And how is that?” she asked, giving him an interested look. 

“As a grim specter who has dispensed with all human comfort.” Louis trusted she would take it as a complement. 

Gabrielle was impassive for a moment, staring at him and making him sweat before a slow smile of satisfaction graced her lips. “I do cultivate that image." She sighed. "But Sevraine has rather softened me, I’m afraid.” 

“No, not at all,” Louis said. The corner of her lip twitched, still upturned, and he decided that she was in a good enough mood to risk teasing her back. “You seem as heartless as ever to me.” 

Her eyebrows went up and he worried for a moment he’d pushed too far, but then she let out a little huff of amusement and shook her head. “Such a flatterer. No wonder Lestat adores you.” 

“Well, it’s not because of my personality.” 

“No, you’re much too morbid,” Gabrielle agreed. “But looks can go a long way to compensate for that.” 

“That’s why I try to keep my mouth shut," Louis said, affably.

“Good,” Gabrielle said with a seriousness Louis took as insulting before she added, “There are far too many listening ears at court.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up, I am probably going to start taking longer between chapters (I knowwww, sorry). My RL work has been really inconsistent since social distancing started, but I have some projects coming up that are going to take up much more of my time. Thank you to everyone who has been following along and leaving comments. It's amazing to know other people are enjoying this very self-indulgent story after it's been in my brain (and in my google docs) for so long.


	10. Chapter 10

After parting from Gabrielle, Louis wasn't eager to rejoin the crowd in the ballroom and found excuses to delay his return. He walked through each of the salons again and pretended to admire the decorations he'd already seen while making small talk with the handful of guests there. 

In one of the empty rooms, he noticed a piece of litter on the floor and stooped to reach for it. He thought it was a receipt or a small handkerchief at first, but when he picked it up he saw that it was a thick piece of fine notepaper. It had been folded twice and there was something written on the outside flap. It took him a moment to decipher the stylized writing with its strong contrast between thin and thick pen strokes. "To my dear—" something. The last word was difficult to make out. "My dear compatriot?" No, "companion," surely? It must be a love note. How embarrassing. The wax seal was broken and Louis wondered if the intended recipient had read it, or if the note had been lost before it could be delivered and prying eyes had violated the contents. He put it away in his jacket pocket to be disposed of properly later.

Through the walls, there came a squeal of strings and a lively waltz began to play. The orchestra must have returned to the stage. Closing his eyes and focusing, Louis could make out the dull hum of conversation underneath the music. Lestat's voice was easy to pick out from the others, in part because everyone else fell silent when he began to speak. Louis couldn't make out the words, but he could sense the familiar rhythm of friendly banter as Lestat made conversation. Louis should return to the ballroom and join them, but he dreaded thought of the attention he would draw when he entered the room. He could already feel all of the eyes turning toward him and hear the whispers that would follow as he walked inside…

 _Fuck it._ He'd made his appearance earlier, he didn't have to go back. Lestat would wonder where he had gone and the courtiers would notice, of course, but at least this way he didn't have to listen to them gossip while he was in the same room. 

He took one of the back passageways to the entrance hall, not wanting risk meeting anyone in the corridors and having to make excuses for his early departure. The wind hit him hard as he pushed open the heavy exterior door and slipped outside. The storm that had been threatening earlier had blown in and the snow was falling in thick, wet clumps. Louis wasn't prepared for the weather dressed in his evening wear and without a coat, but at least he wouldn't run into anyone out on a pleasure stroll.

He walked the long way around the courtyard following the outer wall where the snowdrifts were not as deep. His clothing was soaked and covered in a layer of snow by the time he reached the south tower and reentered the chateau via a convenient window. There was icy water sloshing in his shoes and he left damp footprints behind him on the stairs.

As soon as he was inside of his own rooms, Louis stripped off his sodden jacket and took off his shoes. It occurred to him that this was the perfect time to enjoy some of the luxurious amenities of his suite. 

Louis went into the bathroom, which was outfitted with a huge tub with whirlpool jets, and turned on the taps. The large tub was completely impractical for daily use, but he liked the idea of spending an hour or so soaking in it and reading. It was the sort of luxury Louis never would have arranged for himself, but if he was living in Lestat’s home he might as well enjoy the side benefits of rank materialism. 

While the tub was filling, Louis selected a book from the shelves of the library and finished disrobing. Steam had filled the bathroom by then and fogged all of the mirrored surfaces. The water was gloriously hot when Louis stepped inside. He settled in one of the corners of the tub with a towel behind his head and his book in hand.

Louis had barely made it through ten pages when he heard someone enter the front parlor. He sighed. It could only be Lestat since he didn’t bother to knock first. He'd barely been gone a half-hour and already Lestat came looking for him. 

”I'm in here,” Louis said, not bothering to raise his voice. 

A moment later, the bathroom door opened and Lestat appeared still in full court dress. “The orchestra went on a break and you hadn't come—“ Lestat stopped and tilted his head. “You’re taking a bath?”

Louis glanced up from his book and shrugged. “It seemed like a waste to have all this plumbing not to make use of it.”

"I see..." Lestat said slowly. His eyes began to wander down Louis’ body and dip below the water line. 

Louis pretended not to see and turned a page in his book. "I decided to turn in early. I didn't think anyone would notice." 

"I noticed," Lestat said in a distracted way. 

"Sorry, I should have said something." Lestat didn't reply and Louis attempted to pick up the thread of his reading, but he couldn’t concentrate with Lestat hovering in the doorway watching him. After a few moments of pointedly ignoring him, Louis gave up and glanced up. Lestat smiled. It was the sly sort of smile he gave to his favorite evildoers on the last night of their lives.

As Louis watched, Lestat pushed the door closed behind him and took off his jacket. He looked around for a place to hang it, then shrugged and dropped it on the floor. 

“What are you doing?” Louis asked.

“Taking a bath,” Lestat said, his eyebrows raised as he removed his cravat and started unbuttoning his waistcoat. The ruffles lining the collar of his silk shirt fell open to reveal a glimpse of his chest. 

Louis felt flushed and uncomfortable under his scrutiny. He shouldn't have made the water so hot. “Won’t they miss you in the ballroom?” 

Lestat scoffed and threw his waistcoat down to join his jacket on the floor. “They can manage for the rest of the night without their prince.” He slid off his shoes and kicked them out of the way in a decisive motion. 

Louis closed his book but kept his place with his finger. He tried to watch nonchalantly as Lestat unbuttoned his breeches and pushed them down over the long tails of his shirt. They joined the pile of clothing on the floor and he sat on the edge of the tub to remove his stockings. Of course Lestat couldn’t resist the opportunity to play to an audience, and he spent an exaggerated amount of time drawing his hose down off his calves. He had always been overly proud of his shapely legs. Louis rested his head on his hand and pretended to be bored by the performance. In response, Lestat snapped one of his stockings at him when he was done (Louis batted it away) before standing up to strip off his shirt. Louis turned away and made room by moving to the opposite side of the tub. 

He tried to remember the last time he had seen Lestat naked. Not for a decade or more, surely. Vampire intimacies were so often divorced from the body; you could kill together and share blood without doing more than loosening your collar. 

Lestat made a show of testing the water before finally sliding down into it. There was plenty of room for two people to stretch out, but naturally he pushed between Louis’ legs to sit reclined against his chest. He tilted his head back and rested it on Louis' shoulder as he made himself comfortable. Louis finally gave up the pretense that he was reading and closed his book. He set it down out of reach of any splashing. He let his arm come up to wrap around Lestat’s waist and ran his palm over the smooth expanse of his stomach. He stretched out his free arm along the edge of the tub and took a long slow breath. Lestat seemed content to relax against him and be held for the moment. 

For a while the only sound was the occasional drip from the faucet and the steady thump of both of their hearts. Louis turned his face into Lestat’s hair and marveled at the peace between them. They hadn’t had a quiet moment like this in so long; pressed skin to skin, not needing any words. Whatever it meant to Lestat, it was worth it to be here and have this. 

Lestat shifted and nudged Louis with his shoulder. “Wash my hair?” he asked.

Louis huffed but dislodged him so he could sit upright. There was an alcove full of plastic bottles that he'd never looked at very closely. Upon inspection, most of them turned out to be various scented oils and soaking salts. He found one that appeared to be for hair and claimed to contain “intensive moisture.” Not that it mattered much for vampires. Their hair was perpetually clean and sleek unless they got dirty in some way, and even then simply brushing it out was enough to remove any dirt. Bathing was always more of a luxury than a necessity. 

Louis uncapped the bottle and found it smelled pleasantly of lavender without any of the underlying synthetic smells that sometimes irritated him about modern cleansing products. He turned back to Lestat, who was already dunking his head under the water and managed to splash Louis as he came back up again. Lestat pushed his wet hair out of his face and smiled brightly when he saw Louis’ irritation. 

“Come on, then,” Louis said. Lestat scooted closer and bowed his head to let Louis apply the shampoo.

Lestat let his head hang down loosely and made an exaggerated sigh of pleasure as Louis began to massage his scalp. Louis worked his fingers from the back of Lestat’s neck up to the crown of his head and back down again. Lestat continued making indecent noises while Louis tried not to think about Cyril and Thorne who were undoubtedly outside somewhere keeping watch and hearing all this. 

Louis caught a dollop of foam beginning to slide down Lestat’s forehead and pushed it back out of his face. He made slow lazy circles over the side of his head and enjoyed the silky feel of the lather over the satin of Lestat’s hair. 

Lestat kept his eyes closed as Louis shifted to massage the back of his head. The half-moon lines of his lowered lashes softened his face and made him look like the 21-year-old he was in body. Louis was so used to thinking of Lestat as an older, domineering force, it was always strange to be reminded of how young he had been when he died. 

Louis turned the tap back on and guided Lestat to tilt his head back. He supported his neck as he rinsed his hair with handfuls of clean water. “There,” he said. “You can open your eyes.”

Lestat dunked his head underwater again and came back up with a happy sigh. He picked up a washcloth and started soaping it with body wash from one of the bottles on the side of the tub. “Your turn,” he said.

“I’m already clean,” Louis protested, but let Lestat take his hand and start working the washcloth up his arm. Louis held still and tried to humor him as Lestat started “washing” him with a focus on all the areas he knew Louis was sensitive, like the insides of his wrists and the line of his clavicle. 

While Lestat focused on his task, Louis took the opportunity to study him up close. Even damp, his hair was terribly pale now, almost white. It was still multifaceted, but without the golden luster Louis had once stared at by gaslight for hours on end. The last of his tan had faded away and his skin was almost the same shade as the porcelain tub and with nearly the same poreless sheen. They were a matched pair now, ghostly pale except for the darker tracing of veins under the skin. 

Lestat had been circling around Louis’ chest for a good ten minutes when Louis reached up to catch his wrist and stop him. “I think my nipples are clean by now.” 

Lestat pouted and pinched one before letting the cloth slide down toward Louis’ stomach. 

“What about here?” he asked, his voice soft in Louis’ ear as his hand traveled further south. “Should I wash down here?” 

Louis shifted his weight to open up his legs and exhaled sharply as Lestat’s hand slipped down and cupped his genitals. He cleared his throat. “Oh, I don’t know, I guess it depends on how close you were planning on getting.” 

Lestat smiled and leaned in to kiss him and Louis turned his head to meet his lips. Lestat kissed him carefully, slow and methodical with gentle presses of his lips and soft bites that didn’t break skin and were almost chaste in contrast to what his hand was doing. The cloth had soon slipped away as Lestat dispensed with the fiction that he was washing anything and boldly encircled Louis' cock with his fingers as he toyed with him. 

Louis shivered and pressed up against his side. It has taken him years to get used to being touched like this by Lestat. In the beginning, he hadn't understood why he wanted to mimic acts of mortal passion that no longer had any real meaning for them. He'd assumed at first that Lestat enjoyed the appearance of carnality for its own sake and that he wanted to push Louis to be as wanton and vulgar as himself. It was only after they reunited in the 20th century that he came to realize that Lestat simply wanted every kind of possible intimacy with Louis that he could get. 

Louis broke away from their kiss to breathe and found himself distracted by the deep purple of the artery running up the side of Lestat’s neck. The heat of the water had them both flushed and the blood seemed closer to the surface. He could smell it, rich and warm, under the floral scent of the soap. 

Louis resisted for a moment before leaning in to rest his forehead against the side of Lestat’s face with his mouth only inches away from his neck. He brought his hand up and pressed the pads of his fingers against the spot where the skin pulsed and throbbed. Lestat stilled. The hand between Louis’ legs stopped moving and slid over to grasp Louis’ thigh. He pulled Louis in tight against him and dug in with the sharp points of his fingernails. 

Louis opened his mouth to breathe deeper but didn’t move any closer. He stayed where he was, listening to Lestat’s quickening heartbeat, and let the anticipation build. 

“ _Louis_ ,” Lestat whispered. He brought his left hand up to clasp tight on the back of Louis’ head.

Louis slid his mouth down until his lips were in contact with Lestat’s neck and stopped. “Hm?”

“Come on, don’t be cruel.”

Louis opened his mouth to let Lestat feel the sharp points of his fangs against his skin. “Cruel?” he asked innocently. He began to trace his way up Lestat’s neck, scratching lightly with his teeth.

Lestat’s grip on the back of his head became painful, pinning Louis in place as he arched upward and forced the tips of Louis’ fangs into his skin. It was a clumsy bite, too shallow and nowhere near any of the larger veins. Lestat whined softly as Louis lapped up the blood before the cut could seal itself shut. Louis backed off without deepening the wound, not wanting to reward Lestat for being demanding. The blood sharpened his thirst, but Louis had spent years learning to control himself. 

Still licking his lips, Louis put his hand on Lestat’s chest and used it as leverage to push himself up and look him in the eye. Lestat was still holding the back of Louis’ head, but didn’t try to push him down again. 

“Lou _is,_ ” Lestat said, drawing out the last vowel. Louis wondered, not for the first time, why he had the reputation for being the whiny one. 

Louis made a questioning sound, feigning indifference as he shifted his hand from Lestat’s chest upward to rest on the side of his neck. 

Lestat let his head lull back and heaved a dramatic sigh. “Am I supposed to beg?”

Louis ignored him and stayed focused on his thumb stroking over Lestat’s pulse point. His skin was thinner here but still tough. Louis knew from experience that biting into it would be like breaking a thin crust of ice. Louis moved forward an inch and then stopped, enjoying the sound of Lestat’s breath catching in his throat. 

Louis shifted back slightly. “No.”

“ _No?_ ” Lestat splashed the water angrily. He sounded like he was about to start throwing things but Louis continued before any of the shampoo bottles went flying. 

“Give me your wrist,” he said, his tone low, down in the soft persuasive register that Lestat often found irresistible. 

Lestat stilled and swallowed. He kept his eyes focused on Louis as he raised his right arm. He waited until his hand was level with Louis' jaw before he turned his wrist over to show the blue veins underneath. 

Louis caught his hand in a tight grip and jerked him closer. Lestat stuttered forward, his usual grace lost in the rush of anticipation as Louis accepted his offering and brought his wrist to his mouth. He sank his teeth in and Lestat’s head rolled back into the swoon almost instantly. 

Warm blood crossed his lips, pumping fast with Lestat’s racing heart. Louis fought to keep his eyes open and watched Lestat's face as the pleasure passed over him. His mouth fell open and his lips moved with silent words. Louis could feel the first touch of his mind, bright and overwhelming as it always was. It was so easy to get carried along by the current and for Louis’ own churning thoughts to be swept away in the flood. 

Lestat was falling backwards, leaving Louis holding his arm up as he sank down into the water on his back. A spark of fear almost dislodged Louis from his wrist as Lestat’s head submerged under the water, but of course he wasn’t going to drown. He could lie under there for hours and be absolutely fine. Louis bit down again, renewing the flow of blood and finally letting himself follow Lestat into the swoon.

Louis was blind to anything but the sparks of light behind his eyelids, and deaf to anything but the drumbeat of their hearts sounding in unison. It was a perfect communion, blood filling his mouth and warming his soul without the usual guilt waiting for him when it was over. Conscious thought was mostly obliterated, but Louis could feel waves of emotion that weren’t his own: _desire, warmth, comfort._ Underlying everything was Lestat’s deep affection for him like a deceptively still body of water where Louis might stumble and drown if he wasn’t careful. There was something else, a murmur on the edge of hearing, somehow out of place and discordant, but it was soon swept away in the fragments of Lestat's thought repeating the same themes, _glad you’re here, stay with me, need you._ It eased Louis’ mind to know that his presence was still having a positive effect on Lestat. Louis might be terribly ill-suited to court life, but at least he was still of some use emotionally. 

Louis’s body began to return to him—his fingers tingling with the new blood, his stomach pleasantly full, his leg pressed against Lestat’s hip. His mouth was still full of blood when he heard the voice clear and loud beside him. “Beloved Louis. Weak Louis.” 

Louis opened his eyes and blinked hard, expecting to see the intruder staring at him, but the room was empty. 

“I love to see you through his eyes, to see how he sees you,” the voice said, so loud Louis’ ears were ringing with it. “You could never understand what he's sacrificed to keep you—”

Louis ripped his teeth from Lestat’s wrist with a gasp. Blood spilled down his chin and into the water, staining Lestat’s features with tendrils of red where he lay at the bottom of the tub. He looked serene, his eyes closed and his mouth open, seemingly unaffected by Louis’ startled retreat. 

Louis hadn’t thought to ask if Amel was with them. He’d assumed that Lestat would send him away in such an intimate situation. _Could_ Lestat send him away? Would it even occur to him to ask for privacy anymore? 

Louis was breathing heavily, but he managed to collect himself before Lestat’s eyes fluttered open.

Lestat rose up slowly to break the surface and blinked the water out of his eyes. His wrist was still bloody as he reached out to touch Louis’ cheek, but Louis felt no temptation to bite down again. 

Lestat didn’t seem to notice his distress, still too blissed out and lightheaded from the blood loss. He blinked hazily at Louis and smiled. His fingers drifted across Louis' face until he was pushing at his lips and Louis opened his mouth automatically. The pad of Lestat’s thumb came to rest on the sharp point of his fang as he stared up at him, sated and happy. 

Louis remembered in a flash the night he had been made, his head tipped back and mouth open as strong fingers probed the top of his mouth. “ _Hm, longer but not very sharp yet, it needs some more time for the blood to work._ ” The pressure of Lestat’s thumb on his dull teeth had shot through Louis with a pleasure he didn’t yet fully understand. 

In the present, Lestat was staring noticeably at Louis’ neck as he leaned closer. 

“The water’s getting cold,” Louis said. 

“Hm?” Lestat glanced around as if he’d forgotten they were in the bath. “Oh, so it is.” 

Louis stood up and pulled Lestat to his feet with him. He took a towel from the rack and wrapped it around Lestat’s shoulders before stepping out to get one for himself. Lestat was already steady on his feet, his strong body compensating for the lost blood easily. 

Louis’ mind whirled as he tried to think of an excuse to distract Lestat. Should he suggest they go out? Lestat would probably be suspicious if he suddenly wanted to go somewhere together. Should he bring up what he had heard in Lestat's head? Ask him to send Amel away? Louis was afraid to find out how he would respond if he did. 

Louis was saved from his indecision by a knock outside. It was coming from the private stairway which communicated between his and Lestat’s rooms. "Boss?" It was Cyril, sounding apologetic and also amused.

Louis pulled away from Lestat snatched up his robe from where it was hanging behind the door. 

Lestat made a noise of frustration while Louis put on the robe. “You better have a damn good reason for interrupting, Cyril,” he yelled. 

There was a pause while Cyril took a moment to consider his reasons before he responded through the door. “...I could come back?”

Lestat looked at Louis, who was knotting the tie of his robe, and sighed. “No, fine, come in.”

The door to the stairs opened and a few moments later Cyril arrived and peered into the bathroom with only the top of his head visible. It was more than a little ridiculous coming from such a tall, imposing man. “Hey, boss.”

“Well, what is it?” Lestat asked. He started towel drying his hair without making any effort to cover himself. 

“You know that slick guy? Gregory?”

Lestat laid the towel over his shoulders and flipped his hair back from his face. “Yes, what about him?” 

“He said he made an, uh, appointment with you.”

Lestat sighed and glanced at Louis. “He did, but that was before—” 

“It’s all right,” Louis said, waving him away. 

“Fine, right, princely duties…” Lestat quickly gathered up his clothing from the floor and hung it over his arm. "Lead the way, Cyril." 

Cyril turned to go in answer and Lestat followed. 

“Put your clothes on,” Louis called after him, forcing his voice to sound light and joking. “It’s not dignified to take appointments in the nude.” 

“Gregory will probably take it as a sign of special favor,” Lestat answered over his shoulder and Louis sighed in response. 

As soon as the door was shut, Louis sat down on the edge of the tub. His book was on the floor where it had fallen. Louis picked it up, although he didn't think he would get any more reading done tonight. There was still a hint of copper in the air, but there was no visible blood in the milky bath water. He reached down to open the drain and watched as the tub emptied.

**Author's Note:**

> With thanks to Cesare, Rebness, HidetheSilverware, and Burnadette who have all been supportive and helpful as I have talked about this thing for over a year.


End file.
